


I Have No Son-In-Law!

by BornAgainKishin



Category: Rocko's Modern Life, Rocko's Modern Life Static Cling
Genre: Also ice cream innuendos, F/M, Flashbacks, No seriously lots of flashbacks to how they started dating, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2020-10-24 23:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20714480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BornAgainKishin/pseuds/BornAgainKishin
Summary: After two years of (not-so) secret dating, Rocko and Rachel have become engaged. However, there's one thing standing in the way of their wedding aisle: Ed.





	1. A Very Sweaty Wallaby

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so, hi, Static Cling smacked me in the face so hard with it's genuine pure pureness that I couldn't sleep until I started to write my first fanfiction in about a decade.
> 
> Still can't sleep, but now this is why.
> 
> Enjoy!

This could either be the best or worst day of Rocko’s life.

“All right, fellas…hit me.”

“Wallet!”

He whipped it out like a cowboy in a duel before shoving it back in his pocket. “Check.”

“Housekeys!”

“Check.”

“Breath mints!”

“Check.”

“Protection!”

“Che—Heffer!”

The steer giggled giddily behind him as Rocko glared from the mirror, bouncing on the couch and nearly knocking Filburt over. “Hey, if she says yes, you gotta be prepared!”

Rocko sighed warily. He would sweat straight through his tuxedo before the dinner even started. “Please don’t say ‘if’. I don’t think I can do this if it’s just an ‘if’.”

“All right, big boy, you’re scaring him,” Filburt deadpanned, shoving Heffer out of the way as he came up behind their friend. “Rocko. What do you see in there?”

Rocko gulped. “A very sweaty wallaby?”

“No.” Filburt grabbed Rocko’s shoulders with a strength that would normally shatter his own. “A man.”

“Oh. Okay—h-hey!”

Filburt fished around in Rocko’s pocket until he pulled out his cell phone, easily opening it with a swipe. “You know, you should really consider getting password protection…okay, look!” He shoved the phone back in Rocko’s face. “What do you see in there?”

Rocko shoved Filburt’s hand back to get a proper look. Staring back at him was a year-old selfie of himself and Rachel nestled in the grass, from when she still showing him how to take selfies. He had a shy but ecstatic grin on his face, while she smiled comfortably with her head on his chest.

“It’s me and Rachel.”

“No,” Filburt said. “You and your woman!”

Rocko cringed. “Can you not refer to her like that, it feels dirty…”

“Listen to me, Rock. You’re not doing this for fun and games. This isn’t just about you. This is about her.” Filburt zoomed in on Rachel’s face for emphasis. “And you’re gonna get through this night because you are a man in love!”

Rocko stared at the photo, that warm summer morning still fresh in his mind. The smell of her hair that day. How she cuddled into his chest as she slept. How he didn’t even realize until he sat up again that he was lying in manure du Spunky.

Heffer’s impressed whistle pulled him out of his reverie. “Wow, Filburt. You’re really intense about this proposal thing.”

“I have some experience in the area.” He tossed the phone to the side and returned his focus to Rocko. “Now say it.”

Without the phone, Rocko was only staring at his trembling reflection again. “I-I’m a man.”

“Like ya _mean it_, beaver boy!” Filburt growled, shaking Rocko like a ragdoll.

“I-I-I-I’M A MAN!”

Filburt tore Rocko from the mirror and locked eyes with him, digging his fingers into his shoulders. “Most importantly, you are a man in love. Can ya say that?!”

Pride and determination filled Rocko’s chest, and he stood firmer on his feet. “I’m a man in love!”

“Damn right you are!” Filburt spat. “And you’re gonna walk into that restaurant, assert your dominance, look Rachel in the eye and say?!”

His confidence deflated like a sad party balloon. “Uhh…you look nice today?”

Filburt’s drill sergeant persona vanished with a sickly groan, head hanging in exhaustion. “I’m vicariously nauseous.”

“Phone!”

The phone torpedoed back into Rocko’s head, propelled by the force of Heffer’s stomach.

“OW! HEFFER!”

“Come on, Rock, we never finished!” Heffer bounded over with a pre-written list, eager to help send his friend on his way. “And finally…ring!”

“Ring…” He was too distracted by his newly developing bruise to process the words. “The…ring?”

Rocko’s previously heavy pockets now felt very empty.

“The ring!” He patted his tuxedo, but felt no trace of the small box that held it. “Where is it?! I spent two thousand dollars on that thing, I couldn’t have—"

Spunky barked from behind. He looked up proudly at his owner as he presented the box between his teeth, resisting every canine urge telling him this was an exotic new dog treat.

Rocko breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, boy.” He wrestled the box away from Spunky – dogs will be dogs – and flipped it open to make sure he hadn’t swallowed the ring.

There it was, two thousand dollars and his heart in a tiny velvet box. A small diamond-studded silver band glinted at him, a larger diamond at its center, begging to be placed on a willing hand. It was beautiful, but compared to others he saw at the jewelry store – some with gigantic rocks, some that looked like royalty, some that literally came with their own laser light show if you twisted the diamond in just the right way – he may as well have bought something from a gumball machine.

“Well, it’s all I could afford.” Rocko sighed, closing the box. “Who am I to think she would say yes? I’m not even half the man she deserves.”

“Aww, Rock, don’t be like that.” Heffer hugged him from behind, lightly swinging him even as Rocko almost lost the box again. “You’ve been together for two years. If she didn’t wanna be with you, she’d have told you way earlier!”

Rocko’s feet hung awkwardly above the ground. He cradled the box in his hands “I suppose so. I just feel like she’s out of my league, you know? I’m just a guy who got lucky.”

“It’s easy to feel that way, Rock,” Filburt said, ducking away from his swinging feet. “But sometimes, you just gotta take that chance. If I didn’t take a chance with Hutch, I wouldn’t be married with four awesome kids. That could be you too. I mean, I guess the kids part is up to you guys, but…”

The box felt heavier and heavier. If she said no, it could be the end of them. But if he never asked…

“What time is it, fellas?”

Heffer glanced at a nearby clock. “The clock says…6:45.”

The reservations were set for eight. “Good. Plenty of time to get to the restaurant.”

Filburt squinted at the clock himself. “Uh, Rocko? That clock is an hour behind.”

“WHAT?!”

“Yeah, and daylight savings was three months ago.”

“I have fifteen minutes?!” Rocko’s legs spun like a tornado in midair. “I can’t get to the restaurant in fifteen minutes! We’re gonna lose the reservation!”

“Okay, calm down,” Heffer eased. “Just keep breathing. We’re gonna take you, okay?” He set him down carefully, unaware of the rapidly burning carpet under Rocko’s feet. “Just give us your car keys and—"

_ZOOOOOM— **CRASH**_

Heffer and Filburt stared numbly at the burned tracks where their friend used to be, leading to a Rocko-shaped hole in the door. They peaked through the smoldering impression to the street outside, but the only trace of him was a slowly dissipating fire trail.

“Good luck, Rocko!” Heffer called down the street. “We’re rooting for you!”

“Oh, fishsticks…”

“What is it?”

Filburt pointed down between their feet.

The ring didn’t even make it past the door.

“Oh…that bites.”

“Which way was the restaurant again?”

\---

Rocko clawed his way down the sidewalk towards the entrance of Qui a Pété, feet sore, lungs on fire, the bottoms of his shoes thoroughly burned through. He made a mental note to fix the clock when he got home.

Scraping by a water fountain and a forest of socializing legs, he pushed through the double doors with his head. Had he not been on the verge of death, he might have taken a moment to appreciate the marble sculptures and extravagant flowers welcoming him into the restaurant. Instead, with barely any strength to stand on his own, he crawled up the host podium and clung to the registry.

“A-hem!”

Rocko wearily raised his head, meeting with an extremely displeased antelope in a suit that may have cost the mortgage on Rocko’s house.

“May I help you, monsieur?”

“Rocko…party of two…please…”

The host huffed and glanced down at the wait list with a sneer. “Terribly sorry, monsieur, but you just missed your reservation. I’m afraid the next table is a two-hour wait, so if you could please sit outside...”

“Wha—what do you mean I missed it?! I made the reservations for eight o’clock!”

Without missing a beat, the host rolled down his sleeve to reveal a watch.

8:01.

“That’s ridiculous!” Rocko began to shake the podium. “This is a very important night for me! I’m proposing to my girlfriend and she’ll be here any minute!”

“You and twelve other parties, monsieur.”

As if on cue, at least seven voices shouting “Yes!” shot down the restaurant hallway, pummeling Rocko in the face and onto his backside for his originality.

“Two hours, monsieur,” the host repeated. “Unless, of course, you would prefer the Chokey Chicken across the street?”

Heat began to rise up Rocko’s face. His teeth clenched. His very tuxedo began to smoke…

And he dragged his feet out the door, muttering every curse that wouldn’t get him kicked out of the restaurant completely.

The line for a table seemed to stretch for miles. About two dozen people sat along the wall of the restaurant, some of them questionably alive, others in various states of decay. With a heavy sigh, he passed them by, trying to ignore their very foreboding comments.

“I mean, compared to last time, six hours isn’t bad.”

“Only three more days, only three more days, only three more days…”

“Mommy, how old am I again?”

“What year is it?! I’VE BEEN HOLDING IT IN FOR SEVEN YEARS!”

As he continued down the line, he saw they didn’t even have enough chairs for everybody, some opting to sit on each other as they waited. He pretended not to notice the extended family that somehow converted themselves into a large ornate dining set.

After what felt like an eternity, Rocko plopped himself down next to a family of skeletons. Or, perhaps they weren’t a family but simply a bunch of random guests, but telling himself they were a family calmed him slightly. With a heavy sigh, he dropped his face into his hands and prayed he wouldn’t become the next one. Although, if the night turned out to be as much of a failure as he feared, this was a much happier fate.

Not even a minute passed when he felt a gentle kick at his feet.

“Hey, mopey.”

He gasped and looked up. Rachel smiled down at him, donning a dark red slip and a comfy black cardigan.

“Rachel!” He felt his energy return and he hopped to his feet. “You look…you look beautiful tonight.”

“Thanks.” A light blush teased at her cheeks. She was still getting used to receiving compliments like this, but grateful they were mostly from Rocko. “Sorry I was late. Traffic was pretty hectic getting here.”

“No worries! I just got here. Besides…” Rocko sighed in frustration. “We got two hours to spare.”

Rachel barely seemed to react, though she raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Do we?”

“Yeah, I tried to talk to them.” Rocko crossed his arms and glared down at the restaurant. “Late by one measly minute. Chokey Chicken, my arse—_ack!_”

Without a word, Rachel was dragging him back to the restaurant by his sleeve, heels clacking like thunder. It wasn’t long before she was throwing the restaurant doors open and marching up to the disinterested host, Rocko cowering behind her.

“Rocko for two, please?”

The host didn’t even look up from the list. “I already told your little boyfriend it’s a two-hour wait, so unless your name is—”

“Andrew Jackson?”

The host perked up as she casually flashed a twenty at him. “I-I mean, of course we have a table! The best table in the restaurant, I must say!” He plucked the twenty from Rachel’s fingers and grabbed two menus. “Mademoiselle, monsieur, if you’ll follow me?”

As the host quickly started down the hallway, Rachel turned to Rocko with a smile and a wink.

Rocko let out a light chuckle as she followed the waiter, taking a second to calm himself down before following suit.

God, she was amazing. God, he hoped she said yes.

“You got this, Rocko. You got this.”

\---

They’d been at the table for forty minutes. He hadn’t budged in twenty.

“Uh, Rocko? Are you okay?”

“O-O-Of course I’m fine! Wh-wh-wh-why would I n-not be f-f-fine?”

He refused to make eye contact with Rachel. Instead, he seemed to practice unblinkingly with a cold steak sitting untouched before him. He squeezed a fork and an unused napkin still in its ring for dear life. He desperately tried to pretend Rachel didn’t notice that he looked freshly emerged from a pool. Nope. He was perfectly normal. A perfectly normal man about to propose to the perfectly perfect love of his life.

If he could only remember how to move.

“You’re kind of scaring me. Do you need me to get an ambulance or something?”

“No, no, I’m fine!” Rocko wheezed, the most painfully forced smile frozen on his face. “I’m just…meditating! Nothing like a good meditation before a meal!”

Rachel stared at the potentially constipated wallaby with concern. His head was bowed. Sweat rained from his face. She was afraid if he didn’t blink soon, his eyeballs would fall out from their sockets.

“We’re getting some air.” She stood from her chair and lifted Rocko out of his, thankful he had least had a napkin in his hand. Even as she carried him away, she asked, “Can you walk?”

“I think my legs have atrophied.”

The cooler air brought Rocko back to his senses. He sat in shame on the water fountain as Rachel dabbed at his forehead with the napkin. He eyed the napkin ring in her free hand. It taunted him.

“You feel any better?”

Rocko sighed. “No. I mean, yes, but…” He hung his head low. “I’m sorry, Rachel. This night was a disaster. I tried so hard to make it special, that I…I…”

He felt Rachel’s hand squeeze his as she sat next to him, lifting his chin up with her other. “You don’t have to impress me, Rocko. I was surprised you reserved Qui a Pété in the first place. Next time, just take me to Chokey Chicken. The service here’s a joke, anyway.”

“That’s not it, Rache. It’s just that…”

Rocko looked down at their hands. He’d subconsciously clasped both of his around hers.

He took in a shaky breath. “Well, now or never, I guess.”

“What? Wait, what’re you—”

Her voice caught in her throat as Rocko got down on one knee, his eyes shimmering.

“Rachel…” His voice trembled as he spoke. “I know we’ve only been together two years, but, for me, that’s enough to know that…I can’t live without you. Sometimes, I wonder where I’d be if I’d been able to spend those lost twenty years on Earth, instead of wondering what was left behind. If I’d have a better job, a better house, better car. If we’d have fallen in love years earlier, or even at all. But if it had to take twenty-two years for us to reach this point, I’m glad it did. Rockets be damned.”

Rachel let out a silent laugh, tears forming in her eyes. Rocko smiled, struggling to fight tears of his own.

“I know I’m not worthy to even think of asking you this, but…” He shakily reached for his pocket, his heart pounding harder as seconds passed. “Rachel Bighead…will you…”

He dug deep into his pocket.

It was gone.

His blissful smile crashed into a look of horror. “Oh no.” He let go of her hand and burrowed through every pocket he had. Nothing. “No, no, no, no, no, I just had it! I checked before I left!”

“Did…did you lose the--”

“No, no, I’m fine! I-I’m sure it’s somewhere in here—”

“Rocko, it’s fine—"

“Oh god, tell me I didn’t drop it on the way…”

“Rock--”

“Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

Rachel sighed, biting her lip to keep from laughing at Rocko’s expense. She fiddled with the napkin she used to dab his sweat away, rolling the napkin ring under her fingers.

…Wait a minute.

“All right, time’s up. My turn.”

That at least got Rocko to stop, if only out of confusion. “Time’s up?” He shakily got to his feet, fearing the worst. “Time’s up for what—”

Now it was his turn to stop breathing. There, on the fountain, Rachel was proposing to him with a bejeweled napkin ring.

“You’ve been through enough trouble in the last hour or so, so I’ll keep this brief.” She took his hand into hers once more. “Rocko, I love you. Will you marry me?”

Rocko stared at Rachel with wide, astonished eyes. This couldn’t be real. Rachel, the woman of his dreams, the best thing to ever happen to him – besides Spunky, of course – was proposing to _him?_

“I…I…”

“Aye-aye,” she teased, “as in ‘yes’?”

Rocko couldn’t help but laugh, the tears finally falling down his face.

“Y-yes…Yes, Rachel, oh god, YES!”

They weren’t sure what caused it – Rocko practically tackling her or Rachel yanking him in for a kiss – but they both splashed into the fountain, laughing and embracing. This was probably worth a potential ban from Qui a Pété, but they couldn’t care less. At that moment, they were the only people that mattered in the world.

And oblivious to the both of them, the sound of heavy, exhausted panting was making its way towards them.

“Rocko…we have…the ring…” 

”Don’t worry, pal…Ain’t gonna…let a proposal…go to waste…Where are they?”

After eight long miles, Heffer and Filburt hauled themselves onto the property of Qui a Pété, Heffer dragging himself past the fountain with Filburt hanging on by his ankles.

“Filb…you think…they have…free water at this place?”

“If they don’t…we could least…drink out of this fountain…”

With the little strength he had left, Filburt pulled himself up the side of the fountain and leaned over it, practically doubling over and almost missing what was taking place in it.

“Yep, that’s a cramp…what the—? Hey, wait a minute!”

“What is it?” The curiosity revitalized Heffer enough to bounce back on his feet. “Whoa! Look at Rocko go!”

“That can’t be sanitary...”

“Hey!” Heffer waved his arms for attention, but to no avail. “Good news, buddy! We have the ring! Rocko!”

“I don’t think they can hear you, Hef.” 

“Oh. Uh…should we be watching this?”

“I don’t think so…”

“Hey, look, a Chokey Chicken!”

“Oh, thank god.”

As Heffer and Filburt sped away, Rocko pushed himself back up, swearing he heard two very familiar voices.

“Did…did you just hear…?”

“Nope.”

And with a hard yank on his collar, he was Rachel’s once again.

\---

“BWAAAAGH!”

Ed Bighead shot up from his bed, staring wildly into the dark as cold sweat ran down his face. Next to him, Bev shifted in annoyance. “What is it, Ed?”

“Oh, Beverly,” Ed whimpered, clutching his chest. “I had the worst dream, but it felt so real!”

“Great, tell me in the morning.”

“N-no!” Ed pulled down her sheets in an effort to keep her up, but Bev’s sleep mask proved too powerful. “Bev, listen! It’s about Rachel! I just dreamt she made the worst decision of her life and married…uh…”

“Hm?”

Ed’s panicked face turned blank.

“Oh…I forgot already.”

“Ed, go to sleep.”


	2. Squeeze. Release.

That morning, Ed woke with a migraine.

“Morning, Eddie! Breakfast is on the table when you’re ready.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the migraine or the previous night’s bout of insomnia making him see double. “Thank you, dear…”

He slumped down at the breakfast table and shoveled what Bev set in front of him. He didn’t bother to see what it was. He couldn’t comprehend taste. Bev’s voice was a raspy drone in the background.

The dream. He couldn’t get a wink of sleep after it. He couldn’t quite remember it, but it haunted him.

There was Rachel, running through the door wearing a wedding dress. She was more excited than they had ever seen.

_“Mom! Dad! Great news! I just got married!”_

_“Oh, Rachel, that’s wonderful, honey!”_

_“Oh, we’re so happy for you, sweetheart! Tell us, who is this lucky fellow?”_

The joy he had for his daughter ended when Rachel called in her new spouse. He looked to the doorway, and felt doom descend on him. There was a small black figure standing against the glow of the doorway. Awake, he couldn’t remember what he saw, but in the dream, he’d know that silhouette anywhere.

Those ears.

That tail.

That _voice._

_ **“Well, I suppose I can call you Dad now, eh?! AAAH-HAH-HAH-HAH-HAH-HAAAH!”** _

“Ed? Are you okay?”

He’d frozen in place, fork in the air and mouth hanging open.

Bev put a hand to his forehead, gently closing his mouth for him. “Honey, you don’t look so well. Maybe you should stay home from work today, get some sleep.”

“Hrngh.” Ed pushed Bev’s arm back and stood up, slightly wobbling as he mumbled some rough imitation of coherent language ending with the word “coffee”.

“Uh…what?”

He barely acknowledged her and shuffled past, bumping into the archway as he tried to leave. Still grumbling to himself, he robotically grabbed his briefcase, tipped an invisible hat at Bev – or at least her general direction – and walked out the door.

Or, rather, into the door.

“Oh, for goodness sake, Eddie!” Bev peeled her husband off the door and pushed him towards the stairs. “Get to bed. I’ll call and tell the office you’re sick. Last thing I need to hear is that you drove off a bridge on the way to work!”

He tried to grumble a response, but trudged up the stairs anyway. Sleep was the last thing he needed. He couldn’t risk having the dream again. He couldn’t risk remembering.

And whatever he saw, god help him if it proved prophetic.

\---

“Wow. We’re _engaged_.”

“Rachel Bighead-Rama. I like it.”

She admired how her engagement ring shone on her finger. She was relieved he didn’t try to go all out for her. She wasn’t much for frills. Besides, a bad run-in with a friend’s literally blinding engagement ring pretty much soured her on the whole “who has the better ring” mentality.

She looked up as Rocko placed her breakfast in front of her: heart-shaped eggs with two heart-shaped pieces of jam on toast. For himself, a bowl of cereal.

“So, how would you wanna get married?” He spun his spoon mindlessly in the bowl, not so focused on his breakfast at the moment. “We could have a big wedding, a small wedding, we could elope…”

Rachel hummed as she cut into the eggs, half expecting the yolk to pool out in the shape of a heart. “As tempting as that last option sounds, I think maybe we should get our families involved. It’d be weird showing up at Thanksgiving with a surprise spouse, you know?”

“Right, yeah!” he chuckled, oblivious to his cereal slowly turning to sludge. It was then that a question popped into his head that somehow never came up before. “Say…how did we get away with this? We’ve been together two years and your parents never caught on?”

“My closest friends are you, Heffer, and Filburt,” Rachel smirked. “Anytime we’re all together, my dad runs screaming the other direction. Not much time to analyze his only daughter’s relationships.”

“But what about the holidays?”

“You know my mom loves inviting you over. Besides, she uses my company as an excuse so Dad won’t have too much of a coronary.”

Somewhere in the Bighead household were photos of Rocko at their Thanksgiving and Christmas parties. Typically, he and Rachel were spending time together in the background while Ed wrestled with decorations, tried to figure out the camera, or Bev posed seductively for the camera with food or Christmas gifts. The family photos worked out strangely well for them, as Bev tried to lean as close as she could to Rocko while Ed seemed to use Rachel as a protective shield from him, essentially squeezing them together. There were even a few teasing photos Bev took of them under the mistletoe.

_“Come on, you two know the rules!”_

_“Mrs. Bighead, I don’t think this is appropriate…”_

_“Just a quick kissy-poo for the camera!”_

_“Mom, please!”_

_“Oh, relax, Rachel, your father doesn’t have to know.”_

_“MOM!”_

“You kept the mistletoe photos, right?” Rocko blushed at the mere memory.

“Oh yeah.”

“Good…”

Rachel smirked for a second, then turned her attention to the kitchen window. They had a perfect view of the Bighead house and…Ed’s car sitting in the driveway.

“Huh. That’s weird.”

“What’s wrong?” Rocko pushed his cereal bowl out of the way, still unaware of the thickening sludge.

“Dad’s still here.” She stood up for a better look at the driveway, pushing her loose hair back. “He should’ve left for Konglom-O an hour ago.”

“Conglom-O?” He stood with her, peering out the window himself. “I thought it was still floating in space?”

“No, not Conglom-O. _Kon_glom-O. There’s a difference.”

“Oh…okay…”

Rachel let out a deep sigh and turned back to the table, picking up her breakfast plate. “All right. Let’s do this.”

She tilted her head back and swallowed the whole plate in one mouthful. Rocko couldn’t help but gawk at the feat, the fur on his arms rising in waves.

“Rocko, you wanna come?”

“Yes.” Rocko shook his head furiously, allowing the blood to rush back above his neck. “I mean, where?”

“My parents’ place.” She glanced back out the window. The car hadn’t budged. “I wanted to tell Mom about the engagement before work, but I didn’t think Dad would still be here.”

“You wanted to tell them _separately?_ Why?”

Rachel felt a twist in her gut. “Call it foresight. It’ll be easier to tell Mom, she loves you. But my dad…”

“What about him?”

Rachel cringed. She couldn’t tell him how deep Ed’s hatred once was for him, especially now that her father actually liked…well, tolerated him. “He might need some convincing. But, if Mom is already happy about it, Dad might warm up to the idea faster.”

She felt bad, but it was easier to feed Rocko a hopeful lie than discourage him less than twenty-four hours after he said yes.

“Gosh, I…I didn’t think about your Dad’s reaction.” Rocko suddenly looked very ill. “What’s the worst that could happen, you think?”

Rachel shrugged her shoulders as she went to put her dish in the sink. “Eh, probably disownment.”

Rocko’s body went ice cold. She was right. He’d disowned her before, twice. Even if the second time was only for a day, what would stop him from doing it again?

_“Marrying Rocko?! HAH! No daughter of mine should stoop so low to marry HIM!”_

_“But Dad--”_

_“Save the speech for the soaps! So long as you’re married to that wallaby, I HAVE NO—”_

“Rocko?”

The sound of her voice brought him out of his anxious thoughts. He’d broken into a cold sweat and started twisting his shirt in his hands.

Rachel frowned, feeling a small pang of guilt in her chest. He was used to her sense of humor already, but maybe she shouldn’t have been so casual with that one.

“Know what, though?” She shot him a comforting smile as she approached him. “I’m a lot closer to my dad than I was before. The worst he’ll probably do is pout for a few months.”

A small smile crossed Rocko’s lips as he started to calm down. “Heh. Yeah.”

She cupped his face and raised his eyes to hers. “And no matter what happens, whether they’re happy or not, nothing’s changing my mind about marrying you. Understand?”

Rocko's smile grew, his feet floating blissfully off the floor. “Yeah. I understand.”

“Good.” She gave Rocko a soft kiss on the nose, causing the tip of his tail to quiver. He practically melted in her hands when she was finished. “I’m gonna take a quick shower. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

“Take your time,” he sighed, watching her leave the kitchen. He stayed floating for a good while, heart thumping happily in his chest.

Until the floating stopped abruptly, leaving Rocko to land hard on the floor, knock his breakfast off the table, and onto his face.

Sludge first.

“ACK! IT'S ALIVE!”

\---

Squeeze.

Release.

Squeeze.

Release.

Squeeze.

Release.

Squeeze.

“Rocko, you’re making my hand sweaty.”

“I what?”

He tried squeezing her hand again, but she pulled it away.

“Are you that nervous?” she teased. “You can’t even hold my hand anymore?”

“Um…maybe?” He made more grabs at her hand, but she swiftly dodged him. “Is hand holding appropriate for engagement announcements?”

“It’s plenty appropriate.” Rachel grabbed his hand herself, effectively crushing it to keep him from freeing himself. “Just relax and follow my lead. Fifty percent approval is still approval.”

“Right…” He swallowed hard. The door to the Bigheads’ house never looked so ominous.

Rachel knocked on the door, squeezing tighter as Rocko still attempted to pull away. Within seconds, Bev answered, eyes lighting at the sight of her daughter.

“Rachel, honey! It’s good to see you! Oh, how’s the ice cream business going—OH MY GOD, IS THAT A RING?!!”

Before either of them could process her reaction, Bev yanked Rachel into the house and slammed the door in Rocko’s face…and thanks to Rachel’s vice grip, on Rocko’s arm.

“Uh…h-hello?”

“OH, my baby’s getting _MARRIED!_” Bev sobbed as she squeezed Rachel into her chest, nearly breaking her neck as she swung her around. “I’ve never been so happy in my life! My little girl’s all grown up and found a MAN!”

Rachel eyed Rocko’s awkwardly dangling hand as it attempted to find the doorknob. “Uh, Mom?”

“Oh my goodness, Rachel, give me all the details!” Bev pulled Rachel’s face against her own, Rachel going cross-eyed at the close contact. “Tell me, who’s the lucky guy?”

“Mom…”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t be assuming – lucky girl?” Bev’s eyes were nearly probing Rachel’s.

“No, Mom—”

“Lucky—”

“Mom. The door?”

Bev followed her daughter’s gaze to the door, where a hand blindly waved for help and a familiar muffled voice spoke through it.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Bighead? Rachel? Are you there? I-I’m beginning to lose feeling in my arm.”

Bev gasped, dropping Rachel as she ran to open the door.

“Rocko, I am so sorry! I didn’t even see you there.” She apparently didn’t see his arm either, throbbing and bent at an unnatural angle. “Are you all right?”

“Uh, yeah.” Rocko winced at each sharp throb. “Happens.”

Bev went right back to dancing on her feet, looking back at Rachel with proud tears. “Goodness, I’m just so excited, I can’t—Rocko, can you believe it?! Rachel’s getting married!”

“Heh. Yeah. I know.” He shook his arm until it was pointing the right way again. “May I come in?”

“Oh, yes, honey, of course…” Bev gently pushed Rocko through the door, shutting it behind him as her tone changed slightly. “_Rachel!_ How could you tell Rocko about your engagement before your own mother?! I mean, I understand you two are close friends and all, but—”

“Mom,” Rachel laughed as Rocko joined at her side. “There’s a reason for that.”

With nothing but a knowing glance between them, Rachel and Rocko took each other by the hand. Their smiles grew as the realization began to dawn on Bev, eyes growing wider as she raised her hands to her mouth.

Her squeals shattered every window within a five-mile radius.

“MY TWO FAVORITE BABIES ARE GETTING MARRIED!” She smothered them both into her bosom as she sobbed with joy, one for each breast. At least this explained where Rachel’s grip came from.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Glad to have your blessing, Mrs. Bighead.”

“You two are just so PRECIOUS!” She squeezed them together, like an excited child trying to make their dolls kiss. “I knew I saw a spark between you! You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this day!”

Rachel managed enough strength to take in a breath. “You knew?”

“For how long?” Rocko gasped, not having nearly enough strength for himself.

“Long enough, darling! Ever since the ice cream truck incident!”

For a moment, the duo stopped struggling, paralyzed with dread. “Ice cream truck incident?”

Bev pursed her lips awkwardly, somewhat ignorant to their collective horror. “Hm, maybe I’ve said too much…OH! I still want details!”

She carried them both to the living room and threw them down on the couch together, grabbing a stool for herself to sit in front of them. She frowned when she decided they weren’t sitting close enough and pushed them together by their shoulders, planting Rocko’s hand on Rachel’s before she was satisfied enough to sit down.

“So.” Bev leaned forward, eyes twinkling with excitement. “Tell me how this all started.”

Bewildered by Bev’s eagerness, and by the apparent lack of Ed despite his very present car, Rocko and Rachel’s confused faces eased into relieved smiles.

Maybe this wouldn’t be as hard as they thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Just wanted to drop a quick thanks to everybody who's been reading since last week. You guys rock. <3
> 
> Also, giving y'all a heads up on next week's chapter: it's long. REAL long.
> 
> So...sorry.
> 
> See you Friday!


	3. A Very Dangerous Night

**TWO YEARS AGO**

\---

It was a typical Tuesday night for Rocko when Rachel called for a favor.

“You need a date for the Pundance Film Festival?”

“Not a date, exactly,” Rachel explained over the phone. “Think of it more like a plus one. Pundance is kind of a big thing, and I’m already expected to bring someone, so I was wondering if maybe…you wanted to come along?”

Wow. An invitation to a big Holl-o-Wood film festival. “Sure, that sounds great! I’ll just ring up Heffer and Filburt later and see if they’re--”

“No, Rocko…” There was an awkward silence from her end. “I mean…you. _Just_ you.”

“What? Why can’t they come?”

Rachel gave a heavy sigh. “Rock, I’ll be straight with you: I love your friends, but Pundance isn’t really…their crowd.”

There was a small, indignant twitch in Rocko’s chest, but before he could open his mouth, the image of Filburt and Heffer donning beer-guzzling hats, foam fingers, and airhorns in a crowd of dignified auteurs obscured his vision.

_“Up next, a film by Rachel Bighead—"_

_ **BWAAAAAAH** _

_“WOOOOO! Go, Rachel!”_

_“Fatheads forever!”_

_“Everybody do the wave!”_

_“Hashtag Go Bighead or Go Home!”_

_“Sign my butt!”_

“Rocko, you there?”

Rocko blinked the image out of his head. “Oh, yeah, sorry. You have a point. But how am I any more suitable? I’m not a filmmaker, just an average guy.”

Rachel laughed. “Well if I remember correctly, you were one of the three key animators behind some cult show called…Wacky Delly?”

“Oh…I-I guess I am!” He was surprised she spoke of it so fondly.

“And I’m not trying to say anything bad about your friends,” Rachel repeated. “You were just the first person that came to mind.”

“Gosh, that’s…an honor. Thank you!” He was relieved this was a phone conversation, or else she’d have seen him blushing. “So then, should I pick you up, or…”

“I live in an ice cream truck. I think it’d make more sense if I picked you up.”

“Oh, right. Heh heh.”

“Great. I’ll see you Saturday, then?”

“I’ll be up right and early!”

“Not too early, I won’t be there ‘til two.”

“Oh, then, I’ll be up.”

She chuckled. “Bye, Rocko.”

As he hung up the phone, he could already imagine the sights. The celebrities, the red carpet, the hors d'oeuvres! He turned to tell Spunky the good news, finding him chewing on a rubber toy under the couch.

“Guess what, boy?” Rocko said giddily. “I’m going on a big, fancy Holl-o-Wood date with Rachel!” 

…Wait.

What did he just say?

“I’m…going a date…with _Rachel_?”

His heart pounded. His tongue went numb.

The words. They felt strange coming out of his mouth.

But it was true.

“I’m dating Rachel.”

His knees grew weak.

“I’m…dating…Rachel…”

The room spun around him.

“_I’m…dating…_”

The ground tilted sharply beneath him and he slammed into the carpet, mumbling the words over and over under his breath.

“_I’m dating Rachel…I’m dating Rachel…I’m dating Rachel…_”

\---

He was no more ready Saturday than he was Tuesday.

“Stupid bloody tie…”

Rocko kept readjusting his bow tie in the mirror, become less satisfied with every new attempt to tie it. His fingers were sore and the clock was ticking. He had to get this right.

Too big.

Too wrinkled.

Too loose.

“GYAHK—!”

Too tight.

With a final tug, the bow tie fell loose from his shoulders, falling to his dress shoes as he took in big gulps of air. As his shoulders sank, his eyes wandered to the bright red $5 clip-on he bought just in case.

“So much for formal dress…”

It was on his neck in five seconds. It didn’t clash too much with the rest of the tuxedo he rented, but as long as nobody got close enough to notice it was a clip-on — a plaid one, at that — things should go swimmingly.

He turned from his mirror to Spunky, snarling and wrestling with another chew toy on the couch. “Well, Spunky?” He held out his arms to present his Pundance attire, a proud but nervous smile on his face. "What do you think?”

Spunky paused to look up at him. He gave a yap of approval before returning his focus to the toy.

“Thanks, boy.” Rocko sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he turned his eyes to the reflection. A seriously confused and overwhelmed wallaby stared back. “What am I doing? Rachel could get a better date than me in a heartbeat. I don’t even know if I’m overdressed or not.”

Spunky yipped again from behind.

“Well I can’t turn her down now!” Rocko said as he turned back to his dog. “She’s going to be here any minute! What kind of date— I-I mean _friend_ would I be then?”

Spunky whined.

Rocko sighed, sitting down on the arm of his couch. “I don’t know, boy. I wouldn’t be this worked up if it was Heffer or Filburt I was going with.” His face fell into his hands, fingers massaging at his temples. “What’s gotten into me? This is just Rachel! We’ve been friends for twenty years, what’s different about it now?”

Spunky yipped.

“Okay, Spunky, don’t be smart.”

The doorbell rang, snapping Rocko out of his monologue.

“That’s her.” He hopped off the couch and started towards the door. “We’ll be back before nine, so don’t cause too much trouble. If anything happens, call Heffer if you need any—”

He opened the door. His heart stopped dead in his chest.

“…_h-help?_”

“Hey. Ready to go?”

He wasn’t sure why he expected Rachel in her usual ice cream uniform. Instead, she wore a simple but elegant black dress, the straps of which sloped off and hugged at her bare shoulders. Silk white evening gloves ran up her arms, and in her hands was a small burgundy clutch. Though she wore no more jewelry than a thin silver necklace, under the O-Town sun, Rachel shone like the brightest diamond.

“Rock? You okay?”

In fact, he was not. His face took on a shade redder than his tie, steam shooting out his ears like a furious teapot. A waterfall of sweat poured down his face. His lungs conveniently decided to shut down. Perhaps most telling of all, his heart was very visibly pounding out of his chest and through his cheap rental. If it wasn’t for the fact he’d forgotten most of his motor skills at that moment, he would’ve said “Why, of course I’m okay, and by the way, you look fantastic,” but “_Buh— I-I’m—guh – f-fine, I’m—b-buh—fine, I-I’m fine, I—_” would suffice for now.

A bemused smirk crossed Rachel’s face, suppressing a laugh to spare the wallaby’s pride. “Come on. We’ll get there an hour early if we leave now.”

Nervous laughter bubbled out of Rocko’s throat as Rachel walked back to her truck. Gradually his body began to wake from sudden numbness — feet first, then legs, head, gut, arms, and finally, head — before consciousness slammed him back into reality.

He stuck his head back into the house for one last goodbye to Spunky. “Don’t stay up, see you tonight, BYE!”

** _SLAM_ **

\---

Forty-five minutes into the festival and Rocko felt his eyelids getting heavy. The deadly combination of the darkened theater, the mostly dreary subject matter of the films thus far, and the annoyingly comfy seating made it a challenge to keep himself from blacking out every five to ten minutes. He was at least somewhat grateful for the dark theater, as nobody noticed he was beginning to enter a zombie-like state.

The roar of applause woke him up again, and he clapped manically to hide his drowsiness. Everyone was facing the screen anyway. Surely no one would turn around and notice the drool stain down his tuxedo or that his left eye simply refused to stay open.

A hard elbow from his right jostled him. “Doing okay?”

“Guh?” He turned to Rachel, greeting her smirk with an embarrassed smile. “Oh, yeah. These seats are really comfy, you know?”

“Uh-huh.” She lowered her voice as the applause died down again. “Don’t expect to leave here in one piece if you nap through mine, okay?”

“Right, heh!” Rocko nodded, praying her film would come sooner than later.

The screen darkened in preparation for the next film. After a few seconds of black, the sound of a harsh typewriter punched through the air as text appeared at the upper left of the screen.

**TIME**

** _noun_ **

**the continued progress of existence**

Rocko gasped softly, finally awake. “Rachel! That’s your—”

She shushed him, smiling at his excitement.

The letters slowly faded from the screen, giving way to what appeared to be the first color film the whole night. It was a close-up shot of a Mr. Fathead popsicle, unwrapped, partially bitten into, and abandoned on the sidewalk.

And there was polka music. Loud, obnoxious polka music.

And it was on a loop.

After experiencing an eternity in a solid minute, Rocko had to ask. “Rachel, is this…the whole movie?”

“Let’s just say I learned a few lessons from Wacky Delly.”

Ten minutes. For ten minutes, the audience watched a perfectly static shot of a partially eaten Mr. Fathead popsicle melting on the sidewalk. For ten minutes, polka music blared through the theater speakers on a seemingly endless loop.

Ten.

Long.

Minutes.

Finally, when the popsicle was reduced to a colorful puddle and its stick, there was a smash to black, followed by the words “A film by Rachel Bighead”.

All around Rocko and Rachel, the theater was dead silent. If there was so much as a cough in the back row, it would’ve split the air. Faces were frozen, jaws hanging, eye unblinking. Bodies were still. The screen remained black, as if even the festival runners themselves were too numb to play the next film.

At the center of it all, Rocko began to feel his stomach spilling into his shoes. He knew what was happening. He turned to Rachel, who could only stare straight ahead. “I…I still liked it Rachel…”

Rachel couldn’t answer immediately. She was almost as still as the audience around them. She took in a breath and turned to face Rocko, putting on the bravest smile she could under tired, disappointed eyes. “It’s okay, Rocko. Not everything’s a win.”

It was at that moment when a sharp pain stabbed into Rocko’s chest. When Rachel couldn’t hold her smile for long, turning away and allowing it to drop with a somber sigh, it started to burn. He couldn’t let this happen. He wouldn’t let Rachel’s first Pundance in twenty years be a failure.

Before he could have a chance to stop himself, he was hopping onto the seat of his chair, feet firm and sure. When that didn’t make him tall enough, he climbed up and stood atop the backrest, catching Rachel’s attention as he balanced himself.

“Rocko, what’re you—”

“BRAVO!”

The wallaby’s loud cheering drew the audience’s attention to him and Rachel, the latter looking confused and the former clapping as hard as his spindly arms would allow. The theater even cast a spotlight on the two as Rocko’s cheering grew louder.

“BRAVO! GO, RACHEL! BEST FILM OF THE YEAR!”

His voice ricocheted off the theater walls, drawing more and more onlookers as he went on.

“EGOT! EGOT! E…GOT…uh…”

Hundreds of eyes stared back at him as the adrenaline wore off. The heat from the spotlight brought trickles of sweat from his forehead.

He cleared his throat in embarrassment as he started his descent from the backrest. “Ahem…g-go Rachel! Heh…heh, heh…”

His foot slipped on the armrest before he could ease back onto his seat, falling flat on his face. He scrambled to climb back onto the seat before shrinking into it, twiddling his thumbs between his knees. To his right, Rachel was hiding under her clutch.

“Sorry, Rachel.”

“It’s fine,” she sighed, resting the clutch on her lap again. “Thanks for trying anyway. I wasn’t expecting it to be a hit, but—”

The audience roared with applause, nearly sending them flying from their seats. All around them were shouts of praise, whooping, whistles, and…what sounded suspiciously like an airhorn.

“BRILLIANT!”

“WHAT CAMERAWORK!”

“AN EXISTENTIAL MASTERPIECE!”

“BRAVISIMO!”

Rachel and Rocko sat dumbfounded before turning back to each other, exchanging exhilarated smiles. Hearts pounding with excitement, they threw themselves into each other’s arms. For a moment, it seemed as if the crowd was cheering them on.

The night wasn’t over just yet, but so far, it was perfect.

\---

Alone at a table for five, Rocko watched as Rachel socialized with a group of likeminded filmmakers. So far, the night had gone exactly as the both of them hoped. Her film was a success, and she found new friends. Together they talked, they laughed, they traded whatever filmmakers traded with each other. Above all, Rachel was happy, and that’s all Rocko could ask for.

Granted, now they had reached the part of the night where Rocko stuck out as the only schlub most people ignored. He made a perfectly awkward introduction earlier as a clap-happy Rachel Bighead fanboy, so initiating conversation with others could be…challenging, to say the least.

Sipping on a glass of red wine, he fiddled with his charcuterie, rolling a rounded block of cheddar under his fingers. There was real food elsewhere, but he wasn’t willing to push through crowds of people for it. He’d almost become the victim of a stampede when the main course was brought out. Of course, Rachel managed to save him before he could turn into several plates of minced meat, but a slice of ham simply wasn’t worth the hospital visit.

“I think you’re supposed to eat that.”

Rachel’s voice gave him a brief start, the cheddar cube shooting away from him. Ignoring a distant cry of pain, he tried to play it cool. “Oh, hey! It’s fine. To be honest, I’m not that hungry anyway.”

His stomach made a sound like an angry mountain lion, startling both himself and Rachel. He squeezed his stomach to make it stop, letting out an embarrassed laugh as the growling stopped. He eased a bit as Rachel smiled, but grew curious as she took a seat with him.

“Hey, what happened to your new friends?” He took a brief glance behind her. They were still in a circle about ten feet from their table.

“I was starting to get tired.” Rachel rested her arm on the table, cheek in hand. “The introvert in me, I guess.”

“Oh. Should we leave soon, then?”

“In the next hour, maybe. Honestly, I wanna get out of here before…” Her half-lid eyes grew wide as she looked past Rocko.

“Rachel? Are you okay?” He hadn’t seen her look so panicked before.

“Uhh…” She quickly turned her back. “Move over here.”

“Um…okay…” He stood and swapped seats to the chair in front of Rachel. She was starting to sweat. “What wrong?”

She tried to play casual, but her stiff movements gave away her anxiety. “Look behind me, but don’t stare.”

He did, but he didn’t see much that stood out in the tight crowd.

“Er, what am I looking at?”

“Donkey. Suspenders. Thick glasses. Huge beard.”

Now that she described him, there was definitely a bearded, bespectacled donkey in suspenders parting the crowd in a very bad way. Rocko couldn’t make out what he was saying, but it was very clear by his loud, obnoxious brays that 1) he was trying to be funny, 2) he was the only one who thought he was funny, and 3) he didn’t give a damn that people were avoiding him. In fact, he seemed to thrive from it.

“Who is that?”

“Cliff Pundance,” Rachel mumbled, trying to keep her head low. “Infamous movie blogger and nephew of the founder of Pundance. He thinks that because his uncle is huge in the indie film industry, he has as much power and influence as any of the biggest Holl-o-Wood film moguls.”

“Oh…”

“He also thinks it means he can be as ‘controversial’ about his opinions as he wants, especially if it means he can fight with people.”

Another loud bray made Rachel cringe.

“What _are_ his opinions?”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Women aren’t creators, crass is class, and the only true artists are men who are just as loud, abrasive, and annoying as he is. And those are the nice ones.”

Another bray, even louder.

“Why is he allowed here?”

“He’s not. He was banned last year for harassing the guests and staff. Just ignore him, he only wants attention—"

_BRAAAAAAY._ “Rachel Bighead, is that you?!”

Rachel froze. Rocko hadn’t even noticed until he looked up that Cliff Pundance was right behind them, just over Rachel’s shoulder.

He was even worse up close. His ego was suffocating. His shoulders were back and his chest was out. The widest, most spine-chilling smile stretched across his face, and his eyes were on Rachel only. Rocko may as well have never been there. Cliff already found his target.

“I didn’t even know you were back on the scene, Rachel!” His voice grated, yet Rachel somehow had the fortitude to not cover her ears. “Tell me, what’ve you been up to in the last twenty years? An artist doesn’t go quiet for two decades without reason!”

Rachel took in a slow, deep breath and grabbed a nearby bottle of wine. The sound of her filling her glass said all she needed to.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that, Rache!” Cliff finally acknowledged Rocko, gesturing to Rachel much too close to her comfort. “Ain’t that just like women, gotta have their fill before they know how to talk, am I right?”

He held his hand up for a high-five, but Rocko only stared at it in shock. Rachel quietly sipped at her wine, waiting for Cliff to get bored.

“Does…” Rocko’s eyes followed the hand down to Cliff himself, a glare beginning to form. “Does she _know_ you?”

“Ah, probably not.” Cliff slapped his knee, making Rachel jump a bit. “Compared to the GREAT Rachel Bighead, I’m just a nobody. That’s why she’s ignoring me. See? Yooo-hooo!” He waved his hand in front of Rachel’s face as she silently boiled.

“Then, if that's the case, could you please leave her alone?” Rocko struggled to keep a polite tone. “You’re clearly making her uncomfortable.”

“Hah! How would know, pal? She hasn’t said a thing since I got here!” Cliff leaned on the back of Rachel’s chair. He was practically breathing on her now. “Honestly, I envy you. You don’t find many like her around.”

Rachel started bristling.

“I’m not going to repeat myself.” Rocko’s fingernails dug into his palm. “_Please leave._”

“I’ll be honest with you, Rache, I’m a bigger fan of your older work.” Cliff squeezed the back of her chair, causing Rachel to lean forward. “I don’t know what’s happened in the time since then, but if you need an extra hand on your next project…I don’t mind putting in a word for you.”

He grabbed her shoulders.

She went cold.

Rocko didn’t need more than a second to recognize the flash of fear in her eyes.

“YOU get your hands _OFF_ her, _RIGHT NOW_!”

He couldn’t control himself anymore. Hot fire ran through his body as he stood on his chair. He was only vaguely aware that people were watching. All he saw was hellish red, and Cliff was at the center of his inferno.

“Oh, come on, buddy, don’t make a spectacle of yourself!” He was still touching Rachel. “If I was really bugging her, don’t you think she would’ve said somethi—”

Nobody even saw Rachel grabbing a knife until the sharp end was in Cliff’s hand.

“_YEEEEEOOOOOWWW_!!!”

Cliff’s scream of pain drew a bigger crowd than Rocko did. He fell back and clutched his injured hand, legs spinning in the air as he continued screaming.

“Sh-she STABBED me! SHE STABBED ME!” Cliff frantically pointed at Rachel, now out of her chair and scowling. “YOU ALL SAW IT, _SHE STABBED ME_!”

Rachel crossed her arms, the slightly bloodied knife still in her hand. “You have my attention, Cliff. Happy now?’

“This is assault!” His voice was even more grating at a high volume. “This a vicious physical assault, and I WILL press charges!”

“It’s called self-defense, _Cliff._” Rocko hopped off his chair and marched towards the floored donkey. “And let me make one thing straight: I have _no_ idea who you are. I’ve never _heard_ of you until tonight. But you were a nuisance to the guests, a pest to me, and you harassed Rachel! I don’t give a flying damn _who_ you are, _who_ your uncle is, or _what_ kind of clout you have, and I still don't understand what clout is! In the eyes of myself and everyone else at this party – which you weren’t even invited to – you are the lowest, filthiest, and the most CLASSIC definition of a _SELF_-serving, _SELF_-absorbed, _SELF-RIGHTEOUS **ASS**_!”

The last word of his rant echoed through the party. Rocko’s shoulders heaved up and down as he caught his breath, throat sore, slightly dizzy, and anger slowly dissipating until he realized what he was doing. He looked down at Cliff, still clutching his injured hand as his eyes began to…fill with tears?

“I’m not an _ass_!” Cliff got up and ran sobbing through the crowd. “UNCLE! They hurt me and called me an ass! UNCLE! _UNCLE_!”

Rocko stared in confusion down the path Cliff ran, arms hanging awkwardly. “Huh. That was easy.”

The party quickly returned to normal, as if Cliff had never been there. Rocko soon felt a hand on his shoulder, much gentler than Cliff’s likely was.

“Rocko, are you okay?” Rachel spun him around, eyes full with worry. “I’ve never seen you like that before.”

“Yeah. I just got mad is all.” Rocko averted his eyes in shame, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t like him grabbing you like that, and…” His eyes shot back to Rachel’s. “Wait, _me_? Are _you_ okay?”

Rachel snorted and rolled her eyes, still shaking off the feeling of Cliff’s sweaty hands. “Yeah. Nothing a good shower can’t fix.” She looked over at her left shoulder, slightly bleeding from where she stabbed Cliff. “Actually, I kinda nicked myself a little. Don’t know my own strength, I guess.” She couldn’t help but smile at herself.

Rocko gasped as he noticed the small trickle of blood. “Oh no! Hang on, I got it!” He patted his tuxedo until he pulled a bandage from his breast pocket. “Always bring your protection.”

Rachel chuckled. Without thinking about it, Rocko applied the bandage himself, delicately smoothing it over her shoulder.

“There you go!” He smoothed over the bandage again with his thumb, careful not to go over the puncture. “Right as rain.”

“Thanks,” Rachel smiled, shyly shifting her eyes away. His hand was warm, comforting. “I-I could’ve, you know…”

Rocko blinked, oblivious. “Hm?”

Then he realized: his hand was still on her shoulder.

“Oh!” He jerked his hand back. “Sorry!”

Rachel chuckled. She lost count of how many times she’d caught him blushing. “Relax. I’m not gonna stab anyone I actually like.”

“Heh heh! Y-yeah…”

He was doing it again. Smiling at the floor, gently kicking his feet. Unable to meet her gaze for more than a passing second. Somehow this was the same man who scared away Cliff with words just a minute ago. The same man who stood from a chair and dared a theater full of strangers to clap for her. This wallaby — this short, meek, unbelievably polite wallaby, at the risk of his own embarrassment — was doing everything he could to make sure she had a good time.

…Ah, the hell with it.

“You know what? I’ve exchanged enough business cards today.” She nodded toward the food table. “What do you say we actually sit down and eat?”

“Really?” Rocko seemed surprised. “But what about your new—”

“Ah, they’ll be fine without me,” Rachel shrugged. “Besides, I’ve been neglecting my date.”

She slid her hand into Rocko’s, lacing her fingers between his.

And at that moment, time slowed down for Rocko. He’d never seen her make those eyes at him before. Not that he’d never made eye contact with Rachel, but this time, something about them seemed…different. Something that made his heart hammer in his chest. Something that made him feel lighter on his feet. Something that made his stomach—

_ **grBLRGHrglurgBLURGHL** _

Or maybe that was the imminent starvation.

He gave a nervous chuckle. “Sorry. Hungrier than I thought.”

Rachel smirked, taking him by the arm. “Come on. I’ll protect you from any more stampedes.”

As she led him to the food table, he believed her. With Rachel at his side, he felt like they could take on an army.

\---

The drive from Pundance back to O-Town was a long one, but neither Rocko or Rachel had noticed.

“I still can’t believe how fast you were with that knife!”

“Eh, it was either that or the wine bottle. That would’ve cost me at least a thousand in damages.”

“To Cliff?”

“To the bottle.”

They shared one last laugh as Rachel pulled up to Rocko’s driveway. It was almost disappointing to feel the truck’s engine shut down.

“So, um…” Rocko drummed his fingers together. “I suppose that’s it then.”

He felt Rachel gently tap his shoulder with her knuckles. “We had fun, right? Wasn’t totally perfect, but wasn’t the nightmare we both thought it would be.”

“Heh, yeah.” He didn’t want to leave the truck. “Um, where are you headed now?”

“Hmm, I don’t know.” Rachel leaned against the steering wheel, staring into the house Rocko kept lit. She smiled a bit as a curious Spunky peaked out through the window. “Find a 24-hour parking lot, I guess. I don’t have enough funds for a motel right now.”

Rocko’s heart sank for her. He forgot she didn’t really have a place to sleep except her truck. He looked back into the dark space behind them. No mattress. No blankets. It must get so cold at night.

“You can…stay the night if you want.”

Rachel snapped her head back, cocking a brow at what he just suggested.

“O-OH, NO, not in that way!” He was red as a beet now. “I meant—what I was saying—I didn’t mean—”

Rachel giggled. “I got what you meant, Rocko, and thanks. But, as tempting as the offer is, I don’t want my parents seeing my truck here tomorrow morning and getting the wrong impression themselves.”

And there was the steam again. “Right, uh, wrong impression…it’s getting quite hot in here, isn’t it? We should step out.”

‘We’? _He_ was the one being dropped off, not her.

Regardless, she didn’t bat an eye. “Yeah, I got you.”

They stepped out of the truck and walked the painfully short distance to Rocko’s doorstep. He didn’t even want to put the key in the door yet.

“Well…I guess this is good night?”

“I guess,” Rachel shrugged. “At least now whenever I need a date to something, I know who to call.”

Rocko chuckled bashfully. “Yeah. And if I ever need a date at _all_, I know who—”

Rachel’s brows perked up in surprise. For the first time that night, she was the one blushing.

How did he keep doing this to himself?

“Y-you know, I think Spunky’s hungry!” He jammed the key into the lock and tried to twist the knob open, despite knowing fully well it could snap off in his hand if he didn’t calm down. “Let me go check on him, do you want some water before you go, some movie, a coffee?”

Rachel snickered behind him. “I think I’m good, Rocko. Good night.”

The door finally gave and opened slightly, but Rocko caught himself before he could fall in. He looked over his shoulder at Rachel about to climb into her truck again.

“Rachel, wait.”

She barely had her foot in the truck. She stepped back from it, leaving the truck door slightly ajar. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” Rocko sighed, bowing his head. “I’m sorry for my behavior today.”

Rachel furrowed her brows. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s just…I shouldn’t be treating you so differently.” His eyes were locked to his feet. “We’ve been friends for so long that I thought I knew what to expect, but tonight…I’m not quite sure what happened. Perhaps it was nerves, my own lack of confidence, my…inability to cope with some _very_ new feelings…and…if I made anything awkward tonight, I sincerely apologize. You’re my friend above all else, and—”

“I’m a _woman_ above all else. It’s okay for you to acknowledge that.”

He hadn’t even noticed she walked up to him. His nerves began to settle as he looked up at her, an easy smile on her face.

“Dynamics change, you know? We don’t always know why at first, but it’s okay if they do.” She moved a step closer to him. “And even if it was kind of awkward, I appreciate you being honest about your feelings.”

Rocko sighed with relief. “Thanks, Rachel. I guess I was so overwhelmed trying to deny everything that I didn’t really know what was coming over me. I guess, to an extent, I still don’t.”

“Honestly, Rock?” Rachel hummed, her voice the softest it’s been that night. “I don’t either.”

Before he could ask her to clarify, Rachel planted a warm, gentle kiss on Rocko’s cheek, sending his bow tie spinning. She pulled back, and she couldn’t help giggling at the excited tufts of fur standing from his head.

“Give one to Spunky for me, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I could—Yeah.” He swayed on his feet, a circle of hearts dancing around his head.

Rachel smiled, her own heart aflutter. “Good night, Rocko. You’re a great guy.”

“Good night. Night. Night. Night, good night. Night.”

He watched her hop back into her truck, feeling as if he would float into the cosmos. The lights on the ice cream truck blinked on as it started up again, and he watched her reverse out of the driveway, right her truck as she got pulled into the street…

“By the way,” she called back before she hit the gas. “You look really cute in a clip-on tie.”

And that was it. The final arrow straight into Rocko’s heart, knocking him backwards and through the door as Rachel's truck screeched down the street and away into the cool night. Flat on his back, he almost didn’t notice Spunky sniffing at his ears, but as he heard his dog’s curious whimpering, he grabbed him and left a big wet kiss atop his head. For Rachel.

“Spunky,” he sighed, “date night is a very dangerous night.”

He hugged Spunky tight to his chest.

“_But it’s worth it._”


	4. A Smiling Green Puddle of Dread

“WAAAUUGH!”

Ed shot up from his slumber again, the same demonic laugh echoing in the back of his mind. The late morning sun greeted him from the window, pooling in and casting itself over the bed.

He hated it. He hated having to be stuck at home over some lost sleep. He’d be perfectly fine at Konglom-O if Bev hadn’t stopped him. He’d suffered sleepless nights before. He’d happily suffer even more, if he decided so. He’d suffer a thousand sleepless nights if it meant he didn’t have to dream of Rachel marrying…

_ **“AAAH-HAH-HAH-HAH-HAH-HAAAH!”** _

…marrying that.

He growled and slapped himself in the face. “Damn it! Pull yourself together, Ed! A dream is just a dream. Rachel couldn’t possibly give her life over to…whatever that was!”

He sighed. He was getting himself worked up over some imaginary figure.

“Maybe some air would do me good.”

He stood from his bed and opened the window. Sticking his head out into the crisp morning air, he felt the light breeze flow past his face, heard a chorus of singing birds, the sound of children laughing in the distance.

It was enough to bring back his migraine. “All right, that’s enough.”

He pulled his head back into the house and was about to close the window again, when the most peculiar sight caught his eye. Something eerily and uncomfortably familiar that shouldn’t have been where he saw it.

He stuck his head out again.

Why was Rachel’s truck parked in Rocko’s driveway?

\---

“Ooh, here’s Eddie and me on our Roman holiday about a month after we got married. Doesn’t he look so handsome? DOESN’T HE?”

“Uh, yes, Mrs. Bighead…”

This was the fourth photo album Bev had shown them since they got there. Each one weighed at least twenty pounds and wound up on Rocko’s lap. For each photo, Bev had to gush a little about her and Ed’s dating life. In detail. No matter how shameless, bawdy, or in Rachel’s case, gag-inducing they may be.

“And here’s Eddie and me in Reno later that year. Not exactly the City of Sin, but you bet your keister we made up for it!” Bev nudged Rocko’s arm for what had to be the fiftieth time that morning.

“Right, Mrs. Bighead…” He turned to Rachel while Bev was distracted. She seemed to have gone into a trance. “Rachel, my legs are falling asleep. Can we go now?”

“Shift doesn’t start ‘til 10:30,” Rachel mumbled, somehow more monotone than ever. “Been trying to think of an excuse for an hour. Starting to see shapes in the wallpaper.”

“Oh my god, then there was the time me and Ed went camping together—we got bug bites everywhere, but that’s what happens when you spend all night skinny dipping!”

Rocko blanched. Rachel could barely keep down her bile.

“Of course, that was the weekend we made our beautiful baby girl!” Bev reached over and pinched Rachel’s cheek, nearly ripping it off. “Ugh, if you two decide to have kids in the future, you MUST let me know!” 

“_K-kids_?” Suddenly Rocko couldn’t sit upright. 

That was Rachel’s cue. “Oh, shoot, look at the time. Mom, me and Rocko gotta go. I start work in a few, and it’s…” She caught Rocko as he fell into her lap, spirals in his eyes. “Bring your fiancé to work day. We’ll come back to tell Dad later.” 

Bev pouted for a second. “Aww. Well, have a great day at work, sweetie—WAIT! Let me take a photo before you leave! We need a good one for the wedding invites!” 

She raced out of the room in search of her camera, leaving Rachel with a mumbling Rocko in her lap. With a shrug, she grabbed a nearby glass of water (she had a feeling he’d need it eventually) and splashed it over his face. 

“Gyah!” Rocko shot up with a start, temporarily forgetting where he was. “Where—what…where’s your mum?” 

“Went to grab something,” Rachel explained. “Told her you were joining me on my route today.” 

“Oh…am I?” 

Rachel gave a surprised smile and raised an eyebrow. “Are you interested?” 

“Sure!” Rocko wrung out his collar. “I’m between jobs anyway. Gives me something to do.” 

She smirked. “Is it really because you wanna help out, or because I gave you all the free ice cream you could eat the last time you did?” 

Rocko squeaked at the accusation. “N-no, honest! Just thought you needed a helping hand, is all!” Granted, the free ice cream _was_ an added benefit. 

“_Oh_.” Rachel leaned closer, delighting in how the blood began to rush to Rocko’s face. “So it’s because you got a crush on the ice cream girl. Is that it?” 

Rocko gulped. Damn how easily she was able to do this. “M-maybe...” 

For a moment, her seductive façade cracked, letting a giggle escape from her lips. "You're way too easy, you know that?" 

"Uh...s-sorry?" 

Rachel’s face drew ever closer to his, the space between them slowly shrinking. “Stop apologizing...” 

_FLASH!_

“GOTCHA!”

Holy _crap_, she was fast. 

Bev giggled as she lowered her camera. Their faces were priceless. “That was a good one. You really do take after your mother, Rachel!” 

“Mom!” 

“You better get used it, darling!” Bev flapped her hands excitedly as the camera printed out the photo of their near kiss, fanning it in her hands. “Come the wedding day, there’s gonna be at least ten of me!” 

Rachel groaned, falling into Rocko’s chest as her mother continued to fuss. “Please tell me elopement is still on the table.” 

Rocko ran his fingers through her hair, giving her a light scratch to soothe her embarrassment. “I believe Vegas is nice this time of year…” 

“Eddie! You’re up!” 

They froze. They could’ve sworn they heard the sound of shattering glass in the distance. 

There, standing petrified and mum, no more than seven feet from the couch, was Ed. 

“Aw, honey, you look so much better now!” Bev practically skipped to her husband. “I told you getting some sleep would help!” 

In a way, Bev was right. Ed was much more awake than he was earlier. In fact, walking in on his daughter burying her face in his neighbor’s chest while he stroked her hair made him more alert than he’d ever been in his life. His senses were heightened. His muscles were tight. And his eyes were wide. 

Rachel scrambled to get onto her feet and out of their compromising position, dragging the numb wallaby off the couch with her. She took in a deep breath and gave the brightest smile she could manage in the face of her father’s uncomfortable silence. Rocko attempted to imitate her, only to reenact his painfully strained smile from the previous night. 

“Hi, Dad.” Rachel cleared her throat awkwardly, seizing Rocko’s hand as her heart began to race. “So, me and Rocko have some great news.” 

Ed remained silent. 

Rocko was holding Rachel’s hand. 

Rocko. 

Was holding. 

Rachel’s. 

Hand. 

_And there was a ring on it._

“OH!” Bev began slapping Ed on the shoulder. Still no reaction. “Oh my goodness, Eddie, you missed! It’s the greatest news, but I can’t—” She squeezed him, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. “Rachel, just tell him before I have to tell him myself!” 

“Yeah, so we—” 

“THEY’RE ENGAGED! Can you believe it, Eddie?!” 

No. 

“Rachel and Rocko have been in love for two years, and it’s been right under our noses! What are the chances?” 

_No._

“Oh, Rocko, say something! You’ve been nothing but quiet the whole time!” 

Ed’s eyes fell on Rocko. The silhouette. He couldn’t believe he didn’t recognize it before. 

The ears. 

The tail. 

_That voice._

Rocko gulped audibly, drumming his fingers together. “Well, I suppose I can call you Dad now?” 

_ **“AAAH-HAH-HAH-HAH-HAH-HAAAH!” ** _

In the real world, there was no demonic laugh. But Ed heard it. The nightmare was flashing in front of him. And it echoed, and echoed, and echoed. 

“Ed? Ed, are you okay?” 

Rachel was marrying Rocko, and, knowing Rachel, there was nothing he could do to stop her. 

“Dad?” 

As soon as he remembered how to form words, he spoke. “Rachel…may I have a word with you? Alone?” 

The air in the living room turned cold. For a moment, no one spoke a word. 

“OH, goodness, would you look at that? The curtains are on fire!” Bev carefully stepped around Ed, tiptoeing to the kitchen as she gestured to a stupefied Rocko. “Rocko, could you be dear and help me put them out?” 

“R-right away, Mrs. Bighead.” He nervously left Rachel’s side as he followed Bev, his eyes only on her. He held his breath as he passed Ed. He didn’t dare look back, but he could feel Ed’s stare. It was almost paralyzing. 

Soon, he was safe in the kitchen, tight in Bev’s arms like she was protecting a small child. Her back was to the wall as she attempted to listen in on the conversation soon to follow, but for another minute, there was still silence. 

Rachel was the first to break it. “Do you…wanna sit down?” 

“Yes, that…that’d be great.” 

Rachel carefully sat back down on the couch, resting her folded hands on her lap. Her thumbs were all she could look at for now. She felt the weight shift next to her as her father sat where Rocko once was. 

“So…how long have you been…engaged?” His voice was calm, but didn’t dissuade Rachel’s anxiety. 

“Last night, actually.” 

“Oh, that’s interesting. Very interesting.” He turned his attention to the rug under his feet. “I’m sure that was exciting for the both of you.” 

“It was.” She turned her head slightly in his direction, but kept her eyes down. “You don’t…have a problem with it?” 

“Problem?” Ed’s voice cracked. “No, not at all. It’s just sudden. We didn’t even know you’d been seeing each other.” 

“Yeah.” She wrung her hands together. “Sorry we didn’t tell you.” 

“No, I understand.” Ed rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s your life. You do whatever feels best.” 

At last, she looked up at him, her heart feeling a little lighter. “You mean that?” 

“Of course.” He turned to look at her, startled to see her looking back. “Whatever makes you happy, sweetheart.” 

“And we…” She began to smile. “Have your approval?” 

No. Of course they didn’t. This was a match made in the lowest circle of Ed’s personal hell. 

But she looked so happy. To marry _Rocko_, of all people. The reasons why, he couldn’t fathom, and yet… 

“Absolutely.” He returned her smile. “You have my one-hundred percent support. In your marriage. To Rocko.” 

The smallest of tears forming in her eyes, she hugged him, taking her father by surprise. “Thanks, Dad. That really means a lot to us.” 

Ed hugged her back, lightly patting her shoulder. “Of course. Give him my best.” 

With that, Rachel rose from the couch to tell her fiancé and mother the good news. Ed watched on from the living room, a proud feeling in his chest. Rachel was happy. Bev was happy. Ed was…kind of happy. Not really. Not about his daughter marrying his least favorite neighbor, but he could pretend to be happy. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? 

“You think you’ll be taking Rocko’s name?” he heard Bev ask. "Rachel Rama's got a nice ring to it!" 

Ed twitched, forcing himself to keep the smile on his face. 

“Kind of,” Rachel answered. “I like how Bighead-Rama sounds.” 

“So I guess, in a way,” Rocko joked, “this makes me the new Mr. Fathead?” 

They laughed, and in the living room, a still smiling Ed began to see seethe. 

This is who Rachel was marrying. 

_This_ idiot. 

_This_ jobless slacker. 

_This_ happy-go-lucky deadbeat whose biggest accomplishment in life would be romancing an acclaimed animator just to call himself “the new Mr. Fathead”. 

_Over Ed's dead_— 

“Bye, Dad!” Rachel called as she headed towards the door. 

He swallowed his fury to wave goodbye to Rachel. “Goodbye, pumpkin! Have a great day at work!” 

Rocko lagged slightly behind to wave back. “See you later, Mr. Dadhead!” He cringed. “I-I mean, Ed— er, Mr. Ed— Edhead—" 

Rachel yanked him out by the collar before he could further embarrass himself. Ed continued to stare at the empty space, barely noticing as Bev came to join him on the couch. He bore the same smile on his face. 

“Ed, I’m so proud of you.” She hugged his arm and leaned onto his shoulder. “I thought for sure you’d be upset about the engagement. You’ve made Rachel very happy today.” 

Ed didn’t respond, only staring into space. 

Bev gasped, energy kicking into her. “Goodness, we have to prepare!” She skipped from the couch and left the room. “I’ve gotta call a wedding planner, a venue, a caterer, the family, Australia — can’t keep a wedding waiting!” 

In the living room, Ed had melted into a smiling green puddle of dread, dripping off the couch and messing the carpet. 

Rachel would’ve been proud.


	5. I Hate to Interrupt This Lovely Performance, But...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everybody! First off, I just want to thank everyone who's been the fic reading so far. Whether or not you've commented or left kudos, it really means a lot to me that you gave some time to read.
> 
> Second, I wanted to make a quick announcement regarding updates til the end of the year. Around chapter two or so, I got a new full-time job that requires a lot of my energy. I come home feeling super sore and exhausted, and I don't want that to be getting in the way of IHNSIL, update-wise or quality-wise. For this reason, I'm going to be updating the fic every two weeks until my job ends in December. I don't have time enough in one week to properly edit my drafts, and I don't want to sacrifice quality just to make a deadline. Unless something else comes up, I should be able to return to a weekly schedule around January.
> 
> Thanks for understanding. Love y'all.
> 
> NOW ONTO THE ROCKCHEL.

There was an hour left in Rachel’s shift, and Rocko was sure his hands were succumbing to gangrene.

“Rocko! Four Mrs. Fathead popsicles!”

“Coming!” He dug through the freezer for at least the hundredth time that day. He was thankful Rachel gave him gloves, or else he’d be digging frost out from under his nails for days. If it didn’t melt first, that is. That was how ice worked. He supposed.

He joined Rachel at the truck window, handing out the frozen treats as she put away the money. This was his day since leaving the Bigheads’ house: riding in her truck, digging through the freezer, putting aside damaged ice cream, and running to hand them out before the customers’ got too impatient or he dropped one out of either panic or clumsiness. There wasn’t much space in the truck, and it kept fairly cool, but he was sweating like they never left the desert. And yet, despite being sore in places he didn’t think he could get sore, he was really liking this.

As Rocko handed out the last popsicle to a quickly dispersing group of children, a small voice shouting “Thanks, Rachel! Thank you, mister!” brought a smile to his face. When the last of them disappeared over a hill, he felt an elbow nudge at his side.

“And thank _you_, mister,” Rachel smiled, impressed at his resilience. “You’ve been a real help today.”

“Have I?” Rocko readjusted his vendor hat, relieved to still have feeling in his fingers. “I would’ve thought I was slowing you down.”

“You kidding?” Rachel leaned against the window. The sunset cast a lovely shade over her face, nearly catching Rocko off-guard “I’ve had people helping me out before, at least in the beginning. You had three times the energy they did.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” A small spark of an idea shone in her eye. This always made Rocko a little nervous. “I’m not asking you to join me, but you think this might be something you wanna do?”

Rocko’s eyes lit with interest. “You think I can make it as an ice cream man?”

“Eh, not exactly. I’ve got enough competition already.” She took off her hat, shaking her hair loose. “But how would you feel about running your own food truck? You could even bring Heffer and Filburt along.”

His own food truck. He’d never thought about it before. His bad introduction to the concept notwithstanding, it didn’t sound bad. He could be his own boss, plan his own hours. Rachel would have to teach him about routes and turf wars – he never thought getting a popsicle through his window with “STAY OFF MY BLOCK” written on it would be so frightening – but it sounded fantastic. With Heffer and Filburt there, it could even be fun!

“Gosh. That’s sounds like a great idea.” He began to smile with excitement. “We could raise a little money for the wedding doing that!”

“There you go.” She smiled and waved as two familiar customers started towards the truck. “You could even ask the guys right now, if you want.”

“Hey, Rache! Hey, Rock!”

“You guys got any damaged goods today?”

The sunset behind Heffer and Filburt hid their faces until they reached the truck window. They didn’t come to the truck every day, but they seemed to always come at just the right time to score free ice cream. Granted, it was damaged ice cream that would’ve gone to waste otherwise, but it made no difference to them.

“Right on schedule.” She pulled out two Mr. Fathead popsicles, one broken in half in its bag and the other missing its stick completely. “Go crazy.”

“All right!” Heffer and Filburt grabbed the ice cream like they were hot lottery tickets, the former inhaling the stickless popsicle whole while the latter attempted to stack the split Fathead pieces on top of each other.

It was amidst their smacking and slobbering when Rachel’s phone rang. With a quick glance at the screen, she stepped back from the window. “That’s my dad. Rocko, make sure they don’t give themselves brain freeze.”

“Can do,” he replied, but she barely heard, her back already toward him as she hopped into the driver’s seat to speak with her father. He turned back to his friends and bent out of the window, careful to dodge flying drops of popsicle. “Hey, fellas. Rachel and I just got this great idea to prepare for the wedding.”

“Ooh! I did too!” With a great swallow, Heffer was free to speak. “So me and Filburt were talking about which one of us would be your best man…”

Filburt groaned beside him. “Heffer, not this again…”

“And I thought, hey!” he continued obliviously. “If Filburt was your best man, why don’t I be you guys’ wedding singer?”

“Aw, gee, Heff, that’s—” Rocko stopped, giving another few seconds to let his offer properly click. “Our what?”

“Your wedding singer!” Heffer reached behind him and pulled out pages of sheet music while Filburt smacked his forehead in disbelief. “Look, I’ve been studying a few songs, I’ve been practicing at home — I even woke Grandpa’s spirit again last night!”

“That’s not a good thing, Heffer,” Filburt muttered.

“Plus!” Heffer began bouncing. “You guys won’t even have to hire a DJ! Heck, I’ll do the job for free!”

Rocko glanced at Rachel. She’d kill him if he said yes. “Heff, I don’t think—”

“Oh! You wanna hear one of the songs I’ve been practicing?”

Oh god. “Heffer, Rachel’s on the phone right—”

“_I WANNA KNOW WHAT LOVE IIIIIIIIIIS_!”

The sounds of shattering glass, howling dogs, and furious car alarms followed, but none of them could drown out Heffer’s wailing.

“HEFFER, DO YOU _MIND_?!” Rocko pinned his ears against his head as hard as he could, but it was no use. He envied Filburt’s ability to hide from Heffer’s singing in his shell.

“Of course not, Rock! _I WANT YOU TO SHOOOOW MEEEEEEEEEE_!”

Fortunately, a stronger yet still monotone voice came out of the truck’s loudspeaker.

“**I hate to interrupt this lovely performance, but Rocko wants to ask you guys something**.”

“Oh. Sorry, Rock.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Rocko massaged the inside of one of his ears with his pinky. “Anyway, Rachel suggested the three of us open a food truck business together. What do you say?”

Heffer and Filburt paused their gorging of ice cream to stare quizzically at Rocko. Both of them looked over their shoulders in case actual cooks had come up behind them and they hadn’t noticed, but when they turned back, Rocko was still waiting for an answer. In their own ways, they responded.

“Small businesses tend to fail.”

“Can I get free food?”

“Aw, don’t be like that, guys!” Rocko frowned. “Think about all the food trucks we see in downtown O-Town. We’d have a great time!”

They continued to stare at Rocko like he’d breathed in too much of the truck’s exhaust at every stop.

“Rocko,” Filburt said, “neither of us can really cook. Everyone in those trucks has at least some actual restaurant experience. How do we even start?”

“W-well, we could learn! We could take some cooking classes, learn about the business—I believe there’s some online classes for that…”

“Babe.” He felt Rachel’s hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take care of this.” She leaned against the window beside him, phone in hand. “Besides, my dad wants to talk to you.”

Rocko took the phone from Rachel. Approval or not, he was very hesitant to raise it to his ear. “About what?”

Rachel shrugged. “I don’t know. Something about advice? Father to groom?”

Rocko blinked in confusion. That didn’t sound very Bighead-ly of Mr. Bighead. “Okay…”

“And don’t worry.” Rachel’s voice turned to a whisper as she nodded towards Heffer and Filburt. “I got this.” She winked, sending goosebumps up Rocko’s spine.

“We’re three feet from the window, you know,” Filburt grumbled.

Rachel rolled her eyes and pointed Rocko to the back of her truck, following her finger without a second thought. Turning to Heffer and Filburt, she cupped her face in her hands and gave them her sweetest smile. “So…you wanna be in a Fatheads episode?”

Their eyes fell straight out of their sockets.

Meanwhile, in the back of the truck, Rocko couldn’t do much more than stare at the phone, the name on the screen filling him with dread: DAD.

Why was he so nervous? They already had Mr. Bighead’s approval. Perhaps it really was just advice father to groom. Maybe when he answered the phone, he’d give him a hearty congratulations. It’d be fine, right? He wouldn’t pretend to be happy just to give Rachel peace of mind, right?

Hands shaking, he answered the call of the elder Bighead. “H-hello?”

“Rocko, my boy!” Ed sounded surprisingly jubilant. Deliriously so, even. “Congratulations on the engagement! I hear you make Rachel very happy!”

He couldn’t reply immediately, the shock rendering him speechless for a moment. “Th-thank you, Mr. Bighead!” He took slow easy breaths as he waited for his heart to stop hammering. “But really, I’m the lucky one. Rachel is truly an amazing woman. I’m surprised she can even still stand me.”

“Hah! Almost as surprised as I am!”

“Yeah!” Rocko chuckled, but his laughter came to a screeching halt as he processed Ed’s words. “…Excuse me?”

“You heard me, you piece of Vegemite vermin.” Ed’s voice turned dark, menacing as he growled into the phone. “Now you listen to me. I don’t know what you did or what you said to make her agree to marry you, but I don’t like it. I won’t try to change her mind, but I won’t hesitate to stop this nonsense if you give me reason to.”

“Mr. Bighead, I don’t—”

“Be quiet! I don’t have the time, patience, or mental deficiency to understand why Rachel would choose you. But what I do have is a very special team of people. People I have acquired over a very long career at Conglom-O. People that make me a nightmare for imbeciles like you. If you let my daughter go now, that’ll be the end of it. But, if you don’t, and you do anything to tear down what Rachel has built for herself, I will look for you, I will find you, _and I will do something not nice_.”

There was a hard click, and the line went dead. Rocko heard Rachel’s phone revert back to its normal home screen, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t feel very much of his body anymore. The most he could do was stare at the wall while Mr. Bighead’s threats wormed their way into his head and burrowed, deep, deep into his mind.

Mr. Bighead didn’t just disapprove. He didn’t want to just end their relationship with his bare hands.

He wanted Rocko to do it. Because he didn’t deserve Rachel.

He _never_ deserved Rachel.

“Rocko?”

He jumped at the sound of her voice, her phone flying out of his hands as he frantically tried to grab it midair. As he finally got a firm grip on it, he turned to find Rachel, Heffer, and Filburt all staring at him.

“Everything all right?” Rachel asked.

“Yeah, just…got an elbow cramp is all.” He tried to fake a laugh, but Rachel wasn’t convinced. Heffer and Filburt, however…

“Rocko, did you hear?” Heffer tried to push himself into the truck window, only serving to tilt the entire vehicle. “Rachel’s gonna put us in a Fatheads episode!”

“Yeah!” Filburt followed suit, not doing much to aid the truck’s balance. “And she only needs a third of the tips Heff and I make from the food truck for funding!”

Rocko couldn’t even react to their newfound eagerness to work. He was only numbly aware of their celebrating just outside the truck. He could only stare at Rachel’s phone as her father’s words continued to fester in his brain.

“Rocko…” He felt her approaching. Her voice was soft, as if any decibel higher could shatter glass. “What did he tell you?”

He dared to look up at her. She could read his eyes like a novel. “Not to…skimp out on the tuxedo?”

His wide, cheesy smile wasn’t convincing in the slightest, and he knew it. An awkward silence filled the ice cream truck, challenging him to hold his façade for as long as he could bare not answering her.

It killed him.

“Hey, Mom!” he heard Heffer say. “Guess what? I’m gonna be on the Fatheads!…Oh, it is?…Then, can I have a large supreme with a side of crazy bread a soda? …Hello?”

\---

“Seriously, what did he tell you?”

Rocko sat numbly on the couch, mindlessly flipping the channel on the TV. His arm stuck out awkwardly, as if the quality hindered on his ability to hold it completely horizontal to himself. “Nothing.”

Rachel leaned against the couch arm, watching him silently panicking under what she assumed was his attempt at a neutral face. An equally concerned Spunky whimpered beside her feet. She’d long since changed into her pajamas – a loose, dark Fatheads tank top hiding a pair of small red shorts – but the way his eyes were locked forward, it wouldn’t surprise her if he hadn’t noticed she ever left.

“Rocko, you’ve been channel surfing for at least twenty minutes.” She noticed he wasn’t even looking at the TV. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” His voice cracked. “Nothing’s wrong. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“T-tuxedos and wedding preparations. All that. Yeah.”

Rachel cocked a brow, thoroughly unimpressed at his lying skills. She eyed the remote in his hand. For being so stiff, he wasn’t holding it very tightly.

“Spunky? Remote.”

At her command, Spunky leapt from her side and caught the remote in his mouth. It was so fast, Rocko didn’t realize what happened until he was circling back to Rachel. “What the—?! Spunky!”

Like the dutiful dog he was, Spunky delivered the remote straight into Rachel’s hand.

“Good boy, Spunky.” She gave him a scratching behind the ear, swelling with pride at how well she’d come to train him. Tucking the remote into the back of her shorts, her focus was back on Rocko. “You wanna talk now?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Rocko gave a defeated sigh. “Your dad…he’s not as crazy about the whole thing as we thought.”

“What did he say?”

“He said…” He couldn’t even tell her everything. How could he possibly explain that her father gave him an ominously specific death threat? “He believes us being together is nonsense. That I’ll only drag you down.”

There was a slight change in her eyes, from concern to unsurprised disappointment. She let out a heavy sigh and began to dig into her pocket. “Of course he did.” She pulled out her phone and started tapping.

“Wait, you don’t have to call him! I-it doesn’t bother me that much, I—”

“I’m not calling my dad,” she mumbled. “I’m texting my mom. She’ll at least give him an earful for you.”

As she finished speaking, she sent her text, slipping her phone back into her pocket.

“I don’t think—”

She shushed him, holding two fingers in the air to keep him quiet. She counted the seconds in her head: three two, one…

“**_EEEEEEEED_**!!”

Bev’s voice had ten times the power Heffer’s did, powering a small earthquake through anger alone. Rocko was knocked off the chair, Spunky ran for safety, several glasses in the kitchen shattered, and a deadpan Rachel stood her ground until the shaking stopped.

“You’re welcome,” she smirked.

“_B-blimey_…” Rocko climbed back up the couch, the force of Bev’s cry still reverberating in his bones. “You grew up with that?”

“You get used to it. Learn to weaponize it. No big.” She hopped onto the arm beside him. “But, how are you feeling? Did he scare you or anything?”

Rocko bowed his head shamefully, sinking into the couch. “I suppose a bit. Kind of has me nervous now.”

“About?”

“I mean…” He turned to look at her, delicately sliding his hand over hers as it kept her balance. “I don’t want to be an obstacle to your career, Rachel. Am I…really good enough for you?”

Rachel raised an eyebrow. He was actually falling for it.

“Okay.” In one fell swoop, she slid off the couch arm onto Rocko’s lap, careful not to crush his legs under her weight. “Let’s say you weren’t. If I walked out the door right now, gave you back the ring—” she slid it off for demonstration, a sight that drove a dagger into Rocko’s gut “—and decided to find someone else. What kind of person is good enough for me?”

Rocko’s mouth dried. His eyes kept shifting to the ring, half-expecting her to throw it across the room and do as she said. “Um…s-someone rich—”

“No cheating,” she said.

“Sorry. Uh…someone kind…someone into art as much as you are…someone who loves you and takes care of you to the best of their ability, someone who gives you your space, someone who makes you happy, some…one…” His voice faded as he watched a smile grow on her face. “You’re making me describe myself, aren’t you?”

“Great deduction, Sherlock.”

“Right…” He blushed as she slid her arms around his neck.

“Rocko, I don’t care if there’s anyone out there better for me. A famous artist didn’t bring me and my family back together. A handsome billionaire didn’t search the world for me, even if it was just for their favorite show.” She slid her ring back onto her finger, bringing ease back into Rocko’s chest. “You’re the one who came into my life. You’re the one I fell in love with.” She leaned her forehead against his, cupping his cheek in her hand. “And you’re the one I’m spending the rest of my life with. Don’t you dare try to talk me out of it.”

Rocko’s face grew hotter the closer hers inched to his. “Rachel, Spunky could be watching…”

Her soft giggles tickled his lips. “Try and stop me…”

And it was that moment Spunky chose to fire between them, eager to play this strange game where everyone sat on Rocko’s lap and mushed faces with him.

“Spunky!” Rocko tried to hold his dog back as he slobbered on his face, pursing his lips to avoid giving Spunky the opportunity to clean his teeth.

Beside him, Rachel laughed, hiccuping into her hands. “I guess you did warn me!”

“Oh, you think this is funny, do ya?” With a snap of his fingers over Rachel’s head, he drew the slobbering dog’s attention away. “Sic her, boy!”

“No, no, stop—!”

Spunky pounced in her within a second, covering her in sloppy dog kisses. She attempted to push him off, but quickly gave in, laughing as Spunky made sure not an inch of her face was left dry.

As he calmed down, he laid his head on her chest, allowing Rachel to hug him and scratch his ears again. At the corner of her eye, she caught Rocko staring. She looked up to return his gaze, and found his eyes shining, a dreamy smile on his face.

“What?” she laughed. She loved catching him like this. He always looked so goofy.

“Nothing,” he said gently. “Just…thinking.”

She snorted and fell against his shoulder, taking Spunky with her. “You are _not_ doing that with me again.”

Spunky yipped in agreement, though he wasn’t sure what was said.

Rachel kissed Spunky atop the head, gently rubbing his ears. “So, once we’re married, does that officially make me Spunky’s mom?”

“I don’t see how you’re not already his mum. Look at his tail!”

It was as if Spunky had his own propeller. A bit too much, actually, as Rocko had to stop him from flying to the ceiling bottom first and pin him back down between them.

“It’s like…” Rocko smiled with embarrassment, knowing it sounded sappy. “…we already have our own family going on.”

Rachel beamed. Her eyes shone as bright as his.

“So…” Rocko cleared his throat awkwardly, his cheeks heating up again. “I guess you plan on staying the night again?” Now that they were both in a better mood, he could appreciate Rachel’s change of clothing more.

Spunky let out a noise like an annoyed grunt and hopped off the couch, scurrying away at the increasingly familiar smell of pheromones.

Rachel smirked at her fiancé. She knew exactly what he was asking for.

“Fatheads marathon?” She pulled the remote from behind her, pressing it into Rocko’s chest. “We could pull an all-nighter.”

Rocko’s tail shot up in the air, every ounce of shyness gone. “Every episode? Even the banned ones?”

With two words, he was putty in Rachel’s hands. “Director’s cut.”

He gulped hard, trembling with excitement as he grabbed the remote.

“I love you.”

“I know.”


	6. Chicken Therapy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI, I'M ALIVE
> 
> So this last month was crazier than I thought it'd be -- moving to a new place, getting sick for two weeks on top of that, etc -- but now that things are a little less hectic, I can confidently say that I have more time to put into the fic again. Things might go a little slow while I get back on track with this, but the chapter after this probably won't take a month to get out.
> 
> Again, thanks to everyone who stuck around and been patient with me. Y'all are the real MVPs.
> 
> ONWARD TO ROCKCHEL

The sound of another Fatheads episode woke Rocko from his slumber. He opened his eyes to a too bright living room and a pleasant warmth in his chest. There was a distinct lack of his fiancé in his arms, but the distant sound of the shower assured him she wasn’t too far.

He sat himself up and was greeted by the sight of emptied chip bags, overturned snack bowls, flung pillows, and pillow stuffing. Empty soda cans littered the floor every which way, some significantly dented on the side, others punctured all the way through.

“Oh dear. I guess we overdid it a touch last night.”

As soon as he found the remote again, he shut off the TV and began cleaning up. The carpet stains needed some extra attention, and the crumbs a good vacuuming. In a good twenty minutes, he picked up the trash, took out the recycling, and left his living room spotless. Well, decent. Well, for him. At least he could walk through it.

In the kitchen, Spunky’s bowl was full, albeit untouched. Unfortunately, he was too frightened to eat anywhere but the supply closet after walking in on…honestly, Rocko wanted to forget as much as he did.

“Come on, boy, I said I was sorry! We didn’t even see you there!”

Spunky whined in protest as he dragged the bowl deeper into the closet, growling until Rocko lightly closed the door. He definitely owed him some extra treats later.

A quick kitchen sink wash and change later, Rocko was…presentable? There were a few things he couldn’t quite wash off, and he couldn’t exactly throw himself in the laundry. Well, again.

A brief glance at the clock told him it was late morning, as did his growling stomach. Cleaning up the living room stirred up quite the appetite. He still hadn’t fully woken up to cook breakfast just yet. Maybe he’d go for a quick run for something. Rachel probably already ate, but if Heffer was up, he could give him a quick call and—

_Ding-dong!_

“Hey Rocko, you up?”

Oh. That was oddly convenient.

“Morning, Rock!” Heffer’s happy-go-lucky smile turned to a wince as Rocko opened the door. “Whoa. You okay, buddy?”

“Hey, Heff.” There was a hint of a yawn behind his voice. He looked up with squinting, baggy eyes as he tried to use his friend’s body to eclipse the sun. “I’m fine, just a little tired. What’s going on?”

“I just got some sweet breakfast coupons from Chokey Chicken!” Heffer proudly presented them from his back pocket. “Two for the price of two! You in?”

He couldn’t break it to him. It would kill his excitement. “Boy, am I! Let me just grab my wallet and—”

“Wait a minute, Rock. What’s that purple thing on your neck? You getting sick or something?”

Rocko blanched and covered his neck. “Uh, no! No, just an allergic reaction is all.”

Heffer stroked his chin, leaning closer for a better diagnosis. “You need to get that checked out, buddy, you got a couple. It’s kinda going down your chest right there…”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it!” Rocko began retreating into his shirt, raising his collar to hide anything else.

Heffer squinted, raising a sweat in his friend. “Hmm. Tiredness? Allergic reactions? Suddenly breaking into sweat the more I ask questions? What were you doing last night?”

“Hey, Heffer.”

“Oh, hi, Rachel!” He bounced to the side to make room for her as she walked to her truck, an extra pep in her step. “You look cheerful today!”

“Thanks.” She shot Rocko a wink over her shoulder. “Text you later, babe.”

Rocko giggled sheepishly, waving as she jumped into her truck. “Have a safe route.”

He watched Rachel tucked her hair into her hat and started the truck. He couldn’t help but let out a dreamy sigh, wringing the bottom of his shirt as his friend gave him an odd look. As she backed out of the driveway, he caught sight of a familiar green shape making a mad storm from behind his fence.

“Uh-oh…”

“Rocko, what’s wrong—”

Before Heffer could turn around, he felt the tiny wallaby clinging to his back, hanging on by his suspenders and digging his feet into Heffer’s fat.

“Hey! Quit that! You’re making my butt itch…”

“_Shh! I’m not here, Heffer!_”

He danced around the more Rocko squirmed, struggling to get him off his back. “I don’t get it, what—”

“RACHEL!”

Heffer jerked his head towards the voice. Ed was charging towards the ice cream truck, madder than he had ever seen him before. 

“RACHEL!” Ed knocked hard on the side of the truck. “Young lady, I need to have a word with—"

The truck screamed down the road in a great puff of smoke, leaving Ed coughing on the sidewalk. As the smoke cleared, Ed redirected his fury to Heffer.

“_YOU_! Seen the wallaby anywhere lately?!”

A very uneasy feeling bubbled in Heffer’s stomach. “Uhh…”

“No, I haven’t!”

Rocko couldn’t do a great imitation of Heffer’s voice, but anything to make Mr. Bighead go away.

Ed glared back suspiciously, head threatening to swell in anger. “Well keep it that way! I’ve had a craving for _Australian barbecue_ lately and I—”

“**ED**! Get your tuchus back in the house RIGHT NOW, mister!”

Ed’s entire body shriveled with fear. “Y-yes, dear!” 

In his own puff of smoke, he ran back into the house. The sound of the slamming door caused a relieved but still shivering Rocko to fall off Heffer’s back. Maybe if he willed it enough, the earth would swallow him before Mr. Bighead could put him in it. 

“No problem, Mr. B!” Heffer called over the fence. “I’ll tell him as soon as I see him!” He turned back around, hardly blinking an eye at his friend lying hapless on the ground. “Don’t worry, buddy. He just wants you to help him with his barbecue! Maybe we can get him some shrimp or something.” 

“Heff.” He was afraid to do so much as speak up. “This engagement stuff is harder than I thought. Rachel and I, we told him the news yesterday and…he _threatened_ me. Behind Rachel’s back.” 

Heffer’s face softened in sympathy. “Aww, geez, Rock.” 

“Yeah…” Rocko sat up and sighed, propping his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand. “Now I’m worried if we’ll even make it down the wedding aisle.” 

“Well, you know what’ll really help?” 

“What is it?” 

“Chicken therapy!” He picked up Rocko and carried him under his arm. “And you can tell me all about it when we get there. My treat!” 

\--- 

“Then he said, if I did anything to hurt her career, he’d come and find me.” 

“Mmhmm.” 

“I didn’t tell Rachel everything he said. I don’t want her getting too upset at him before the wedding.” 

“Yup.” 

Rocko was barely paying attention to his food. He stared down at his intertwined hands, Mr. Bighead’s threat playing on a loop in his head. “I’m starting to worry. We thought he was happy about it at first, but if he’s this upset already…” Rocko sighed and looked up, feeling guilty about bringing down a simple meal. “I’m sorry, Heffer, I’m not very hungry—” 

He jumped back slightly at the massacre laid out before him. Heffer was already eating from his own and Rocko’s trays, a large drumstick in each hand. Somehow, he was trying to swallow the bucket whole, the chicken inside it staring back at Rocko as Heffer had. 

“Sorry. Light breakfast.” 

Rocko leaned his head down on the table, nesting it on his arms. He didn’t even have the energy to be upset at him. “It’s fine. I’m just ranting.” 

Heffer finally managed to swallow the chicken bucket, patting his anxious friend on the head. “Don’t be too upset, Rocko. You don’t even know when the wedding will be. Maybe everything will sort itself out by then. Besides, Filburt and Hutch made it work out.” 

“…Yeah.” Rocko peeked up from behind his arms. “You know what, yeah! If they could make it work, why can’t me and Rachel?” 

“That’s the spirit!” Heffer grabbed a leftover partially bitten drumstick and held it high like a sword. “Who cares what Mr. Bighead thinks!” 

“Yeah!” Rocko cheered triumphantly, proudly holding up his own drumstick. 

“Who cares if her parents don’t approve!” 

“Yeah!” 

“Who cares if Rachel gets disowned again!” 

“Ye—what?” 

“Who cares if she loses her family and becomes a recluse again, and she decides to return to the desert to get as far away from her old life as possible! Who cares if…Rocko, are you okay?” 

Rocko still held the drumstick aloft, but his eyes were wide with panicked realization. 

This wasn’t about Rachel’s future. This was about Rachel’s family. 

_“What’s the worst that could happen, you think?”_

_“Eh, probably disownment.”_

She may have been joking, but she was right. Nobody knew Ed better than her. Nobody knew his temper better than her. What if she was downplaying Ed’s threats so he wouldn’t worry too much? So he wouldn’t blame himself in case something horrible happened, like another rift? 

He really _was_ the one thing that could ruin her life. 

If he married her…he could break a family. 

“Rocko?” Heffer waved a hand in front of his face. “Yoo-hoo! Rocko! How many fingers am I holding--” 

“HEFFER.” Rocko seized Heffer’s wrist, a newfound determination burning in his eyes. “I need. To get. Mr. Bighead’s approval.” 

“How’re you gonna do that, Rock?” 

“I-I don’t know, but I have to! Our marriage depends on it!” He grabbed Heffer’s suspenders and yanked him close, eyes bugging out of his head as mad sweat trickled down his face. “RACHEL depends on it!” 

“Okay, all right, calm down!” Heffer shoved Rocko back into his seat as he returned to his own, suspenders snapping back into place. “Hmm…I know! Between now and the wedding, you need to find a way to make Mr. Bighead like you!” 

Rocko blinked hard, the confusion calming him slightly. “Heffer, I just said that.” 

“No, you said you wanted his approval.” Heffer pulled out his phone, opening a new search on Ogle. “Approval doesn’t mean anything unless he likes you, right?” 

“I…I guess that makes sense.” He wasn’t sure if it did, but he was willing to hear anything now. “But how do I do that? He must have a death ray trained on my head by now!” 

He wasn’t wrong. 

“Quality time, duh!” Heffer lied across the table as he continued his Ogle search, causing its legs to groan and tremble. “Good old-fashioned male bonding! Fishing, watching the big game, bar hopping – everything you do with me and Filburt, but with him!” 

Rocko’s face began to brighten. “Yeah. Heff, that sounds brilliant!” 

“Here, have some ideas!” 

Rocko took Heffer’s phone and made a glance at his search results – and recoiled in horror. “_CRIKEY_!! Heffer, what did you just look up?!” 

“Male bondage activities?” 

“Put that away before we get banned!” 

“Sorry!” Heffer tucked his phone away as Rocko rubbed his eyes to scrub the memory. So much leather… “But the point I’m making is, you have two people to make happy: Rachel, and Mr. Bighead. Rachel’s already pretty happy, so if you make Mr. Bighead happy, then Rachel’s even happier! Happy Rachel, Happy Mr. Bighead – boom! Happy wedding!” 

Rocko grew more intrigued with every word. He knew who he was talking to, but this might actually work. 

“All right, I’m in.” Rocko pounded his fist into his hand. “Operation Make Mr. Bighead Happy is a go!” 

“Wooo! Male bondage!” 

“_Heffer_!” 


	7. A Tiny Little Secret Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <strike>okay, so I lied</strike> Happy last update of the year! (And decade! Gah.)
> 
> I know I say this with every update, but I wanna thank you all again for keeping up with the story despite my update schedule kinda falling to pieces. You all rock.
> 
> kay have fun reading, bye

“Do we have to do this in your basement, Rocko?” Filburt asked, awkwardly flailing in the dark. “I’m pretty sure the living room would suffice and smell less like mothballs.”

“Ehh, let’s just say Spunky doesn’t want me in there the rest of the day.” Rocko grasped at the air until he felt a familiar cord. “All right, fellas, shield your eyes.”

“Huh? From what?”

_Click_

“AHHH! MY EYES!”

“I gave you a warning!”

“_I’M BLIIIIIND_! Filburt, be my seeing-eye turtle!”

“Ow! Heffer, open your eyes!”

“…Oh. That’s better.”

“Off to a wonderful start,” Rocko grumbled, jumping down from the round wooden table he used to reach the lightbulb’s cord. He flipped open a small red notebook he found by the kitchen, thumbing through pages of notes, forgotten grocery lists, and doodles by Rachel before settling on an empty page in the middle. “Right, so here’s the plan. We’re gonna be brainstorming as many male-bonding activities as we can. Sports, bars, sports bars – anything that’s the peak of manliness.”

“Question!” Filburt blurted, shooting a hand into the air. “What counts as a manly activity?”

“What counts? What doesn’t count? Why there’s…er…um…I suppose there’s…oh dear.” Perhaps Rocko wasn’t the best person to ask about manliness.

“Exposing our bodies to simulated violence and controlled danger in order to experience the rush of adrenaline whilst repressing difficult emotions in the effort to maintain a mask of ideal masculinity?”

Rocko and Filburt stared at Heffer, who seemed to be unaware he’d spoken at all.

“Or I dunno, smashing watermelons, I guess.”

“Yeah, there you go! See, we’re already on a roll!” Rocko tossed Heffer the notebook, a pen caught in its spiral. “Here, Heff, you can dictate.”

“Cool!” Heffer clicked the pen in excitement. “And I can write stuff down, too!”

“Wait.” Filburt readjusted his glasses, more out of nervous habit than necessity. “Shouldn’t we ask Rachel to help us? If anyone knows Mr. Bighead, its—”

“NO!”

The sudden panicked outburst shook Heffer and Filburt, even startled Rocko himself.

“I-I mean…it’s best that we don’t.” He wiped some nervous sweat off his brow, taking slow breaths to calm himself down. “She’d probably want to focus more on the actual wedding, so less on her back, yeah?” He drummed his fingers together, more frantically than usual.

Heffer and Filburt exchanged worried glances, but chose not to say anything. “Okay.”

“All right,” Rocko sighed, allowing his hands to drop. “Let’s get started, shall we? Hands in.”

The three met hands at the center of the table. No matter how ridiculously this went, they were in this together.

God help them.

“Three, two, one – _Operation Bighead and Son_!”

“—_Toad-al Recall_!”

“—_Male Bondage_!”

“…We’ll fix the name later.”

\---

“Welcome to Dirty Sanchez, how can I help you?”

Rachel scanned the drive-thru menu, though by now she’d already had it memorized. “Yeah, can I have a combo number three, please?”

“Small, medium, or large?”

“Medium.”

“And how dirty would you like it?”

“Just plain dirty, please.” Any dirtier and her wallet would be crying out in pain.

“$7.50 at the window, thank you.”

It’d been years since she started the ice cream truck business, but she never tired of the bewildered looks she got at fast food drive-thrus. Monotonous as her job would get at times, the double-takes and polite attempts to ignore the obvious always gave her a little kick.

She’d decided to park behind the restaurant for her lunch break that day. She normally sat behind the seat than in it during lunch. It prevented people from thinking she was trying to sell in the parking lot, though some people were more persistent and nearly got her banned from some fast food joints. As much as she’d gotten used to the chilly interior of her truck, it was nice to pick up a hot meal here and there. Sure, Dirty Sanchez wasn’t the healthiest option (or the cleanest), but her breakfast that morning wasn’t the heftiest either. At least the meal was big enough so if she got full, she could drop off the rest to Rocko.

…Rocko.

_“Am I…really good enough for you?”_

She sighed, slumping behind the driver’s seat while her bagged food sat next to her. Of course her father wouldn’t have accepted him. Of course he’d put up a front for her and try to intimidate Rocko behind her back. What was she thinking? Hiding a serious relationship with her father’s most hated neighbor for _two years_? If she was honest from the start, he might not have had as strong a reaction. Hell, her mother had figured it out already. They could’ve worked together to help her father accept their relationship.

And yet, would he have? He was already reluctant towards the idea of them just being friends, even though Rocko helped them mend their relationship, twice. He had elaborate plans to _kill_ Rocko if she gave him the okay.

She combed her fingers through her bangs and attempted to shake the image of her poor anxious fiancé out of her head. No point trying to figure out now what she could have done. This was their reality, and she had to deal with it. _They_ had to deal with it.

But first, she had tacos to scarf down.

She hadn’t taken her first bite when her phone began ringing. Her mother’s face glowed on the screen, and with a few quick swipes, she was on speaker.

“Hi, Mom. What’s up?”

“Rachel, honey, how are you feeling? I’m so sorry about what happened yesterday.”

She tried to preoccupy herself with figuring out which end of the taco to eat. “Thanks, and it’s okay. It wasn’t that big a deal.” Ooh, that end was messy. Curse Dirty Sanchez’s anti-napkin policy.

“Oh, but still, honey. You see, your _**FATHER**_—” That alone was powerful enough to shake the truck. “—is being a little bullheaded right now. You know how he is.”

“Oh, do I.”

“Anyway, once your _**FATHER**_ is done moping around, he would like to apologize to both you and Rocko for his little mind games, which were **_IMMATURE_ and _UNNECCESARY._**”

Rachel tried to stifle her laugh behind her taco. “O-okay. Thanks, Mom.”

“Of course, dearie.” There was some grumbling in the background of the call. “Oh, hang on, give me a second…_**YES, I SAID BOTH OF THEM! ROCKO IS OUR SON-IN-LAW AND YOU’RE GOING TO ACCEPT THAT!**_”

“_He’s not my son-in-law…_”

“_**DON’T MAKE ME GO OVER THERE, EDWARD!**_”

There was silence on the phone for a while. Rachel was in tears trying to hold in her laughter.

After a good minute, her mother’s voice returned. “Sorry, your father’s grounded today.”

“It’s fine.” Rachel wiped a tear away. “Was that all you called about?”

“Oh, of course not, honey! I was just looking through some old wedding photos today and I got to wondering: what kind of wedding do you want?”

“Mm, I don’t really know. Something on the smaller side, maybe. Not too extravagant.” Currently, she didn’t mind if Dirty Sanchez did the catering.

“Darling, don’t be shy! This is your wedding! Don’t you worry, the next time you have a day off, I’ll take you out to breakfast and we can talk about it. I already got a few ideas myself!”

“Sounds good. I’ll keep my schedule open.” At least she had her mother’s support.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your lunch, honey. Don’t wanna take up too much of your time.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Hugs and kisses!”

“Love you, too. Bye.”

She hung up with her pinky finger, just about the only finger not smothered in taco juice. Her stomach was already punishing her for her lunch choice, so she wiped her hands on her apron and sealed the remaining taco in its bag.

…Wait.

Did she just give her mother the okay to plan the wedding?

_Her mother?_

“Ohhh, sh—"

\---

“It’s a _disaster in the making_, that’s what it is!”

“Oh, give me a break, Filburt! It’s not like you’ve suggested anything in the past hour!”

In the time between the start of their brainstorming session and Filburt snapping from attempting to correct Heffer’s notes, Rocko seemed to have dropped dead on the table. Spunky even came down to join the party, but was more focused on the unconscious wallaby than the shouting match.

“How can I suggest anything when I have to look at your _atrocious handwriting_?! Did you honestly think ‘white water rafting’ was spelled _with a Q_?!”

“Hey, _I’m_ the dictator here, and I write down what I want!”

Spunky sniffed and poked his nose at Rocko’s dangling arms. His fingers started to twitch.

“Yeah, like your suggestion that we dig a hole to center of the earth? Or go Bigfoot hunting? Or rent a ROCKET to JUPITER?!”

“Just for a weekend! What could go wrong?”

“WHAT COULD GO WRONG?!!”

“_JUST GIVE ME THE BLOODY LIST_!”

Heffer and Filburt jumped back from the ferocious wallaby gnashing his teeth, looking very much like he could bite the table in half.

“Yeah, sure, Rock.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Don’t have to yell.”

Rocko snatched the notebook out of Heffer’s hand. He’d severely underestimated the unholy abomination that was Heffer’s handwriting. In fact, Filburt severely underplayed it. Perhaps if Rocko squinted and held it to the light just right, it’d look more like a modern written language and not ancient forbidden hieroglyphics known to reawaken millennia-old demons.

“Er, no offense, Heffer, but what the blazes did you write?”

“Oh, just simple stuff, you know?” Heffer hopped over to Rocko’s side and read the list over his shoulder. “Like from the top, there’s camping…”

_“WAAAAUUUGGHH!!!”_

Rocko froze, blinking rapidly. Was…was that a mental image of Mr. Bighead getting chased from a campsite by an angry bear?

“Going to a speed track…”

_“WAAAAUUUGGHH!!!”_

And was that an image of Mr. Bighead getting a flaming tire to the face?

“A rodeo…”

_“WAAAAUUUGGHH!!!”_

And that was an image of Mr. Bighead being chased by an angry bull.

And losing. Horribly.

It didn’t stop, no matter how fast Rocko blinked. For every male-bonding activity on Heffer’s list, an image flashed in Rocko’s mind of what could possibly go wrong. A nonstop film reel of every worst case scenario imaginable, and his blood grew colder with every new suggestion.

“Rock climbing…”

_“WAAAAUUUGGHH!!!”_

“Indoor rock climbing…”

_“WAAAAUUUGGHH!!!”_

“White-water rafting…”

_“Glorble-glorble-glorb…”_

“Hang-gliding…”

_“WAAAAUUUGGHH!!!”_

“Zip-lining…”

_“GET ME DOWN, YOU—”_

“Visiting a national forest…”

_ **CRUNCH** _

“A train museum…”

_ **CRASH** _

“The world’s largest exhibit of falling pianos…”

_ **PIANO** _

“Stargazing…”

_“Oh, that’s lovely.”_

_…_

_ **BOOM** _

“Bungee jumping, shark jumping, whizzing on an electric fence, extreme skydi—”

“_Okay, that’s enough_!” Rocko was sweating clean through his shirt, only barely noticing the sagging weight. He glanced down at the floor and found a foot and a half of sweat flooding his basement. Filburt even retreated into his shell and was floating about, with Spunky taking refuge on top.

“You know, Rocko, you might wanna see Hutch about that sweating problem.”

Rocko groaned, rubbing his head as he felt the start of a headache. “I think that’s enough brainstorming for one day.”

He splashed through his sweat pool until he found the plug for the basement drain, pulling it open with a hard tug. It was a little clogged already, but it emptied the basement quickly, leaving small sweat puddles and Filburt on the floor.

“What about the list?” Heffer asked. “I thought you wanted to finish it by tonight?”

“I did, but I think this needs a bit more planning.” Rocko plugged the drain again, trying to ignore the sounds of Spunky lapping up a stray sweat puddle. “Let me sleep on it tonight and we’ll try again tomorrow. Thanks again, fellas.”

“No problem, Rock. We’re a call away if you need anything.” Heffer picked up the still hiding Filburt by his shell and carried him up the basement stairs. “Come on, Filb, let’s see if there’s a Headlight Zone marathon!”

“Another one? But I’m still watching the one from yesterday!”

Rocko heard the front door shut behind him as he wrung out his shirt. Shaking the sweat off his hands, he returned to the notebook on the table. His eyes rolled down the rest of the list. Scuba diving? Mountain biking? Ice climbing? What on earth was a wingsuit? Did he want to know what a wingsuit was?

He sighed. “Well, it’s a start.” He walked his list over to Spunky, already lapping up a second puddle. “See this, Spunky? We’re gonna use this to get on Mr. Bighead’s good side. Well, not this exactly, but something hopefully less dangerous.” He bent down to show Spunky the list, though he wasn’t paying much attention. “You see, if we spend enough quality time with him before the wedding, he’ll start to like us, and then we’ll get his approval! But if we really want this to work, we’ve gotta keep one thing in mind: _don’t tell Rachel_.”

Spunky stopped and looked up at Rocko, giving him a whimper of doubt. He wasn’t sure what it was, but something behind Spunky’s eyes felt like an icicle through the chest.

“What? Don’t give me that look! It’s not like we’re _lying_ to Rachel, we’re just…surprising her.” He looked back down at the notebook, still feeling Spunky’s stare. “She’d surely stop me if she knew, but wouldn’t being best friends with her father be a nifty wedding gift?” He looked back at Spunky, but his doubtful expression didn’t change. “Isn’t that worth keeping a _tiny little_ secret plan for a few months?”

Spunky only sighed and trotted away, leaving Rocko calling out to him in the dark.

“Spunky! Isn’t it worth it?...Isn’t it?”

\---

He always felt a little sad whenever he went to bed without Rachel.

She didn’t live with him yet, but there were little touches of her at every corner. He’d emptied out a drawer for her things whenever she stayed over (and yes, it _was_ the top drawer, as she so expertly guessed when he first told her). He’d bought her a toothbrush and her favorite soaps and hair products. Her favorite foods were in his refrigerator. Her scrap paper doodles were scattered all around the house, which he was careful to collect before they got thrown away by mistake.

He knew she liked her space, so he didn’t ask her to move in. Otherwise, he would’ve brought it up months ago. And yet, he still felt a slight ache in his chest when he would look up from his pillow at night and see nothing but the shadows on the wall. Even if she did keep him up at times, seeing her sitting up in his bed sketching late into night was a sight he missed dearly.

He felt Spunky pounce onto the foot of his bed, sniffing and nudging at the sheets. He traced his nose up to the pillow that was usually reserved for Rachel, whimpering ever so slightly.

“Sorry, boy.” Rocko scratched Spunky behind the ears. “Rachel’s not coming home tonight.”

Spunky whined in disappointment, settling into the pillow.

“I know, I know. I’ll bet she misses you just as much.” He propped himself up on his elbow. “She’ll be back in a few days, though. You can snuggle up with her as much as you want, then.”

Spunky began to roll on the pillow, trying to pick up as much of her scent as he could.

“Uh…maybe don’t do that…”

Spunky barely paid attention, spinning on the pillow like a small furry twister. Oh well. At least her pillow case would be laundry fresh when she came back.

His cell phone rang on the nightstand behind him, catching his and Spunky’s attention. A photo of Rachel in one of her sketching sessions lit the screen. He nearly smashed the phone to bits in his excitement.

“Hel-lo, you’ve reached the future home of the _gorgeous_ Mrs. Bighead-Rama, may I please take a message?”

“Oh, sorry, this isn’t the garbage dump?”

“Hey!”

Rachel snickered through the phone. “Sorry, babe, couldn’t resist. Is Spunky there?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s right—_ack_! Spunky!”

Spunky barked excitedly into the phone as he jumped on Rocko’s chest, wagging his tail in his face.

“Hi, Spunky,” Rachel cooed. “Mommy misses you…” 

Spunky bounced at the sound of Rachel’s voice, happily yapping into the receiver as Rocko wheezed helplessly.

“Okay, Spunky, get off! No more bum vision!” Rocko pushed Spunky off his chest, getting a decent lungful of air again. “Sorry about that. Anyway, how was work?”

“Eh, same old, same old. My mom called me at lunch today. She wants to help plan the wedding.”

“Oh! That’s…good?”

“Yeah, it’s good. I just hope she doesn’t try to go overboard.”

“Didn’t you wanna keep things small?”

“I did, but I don’t mind going a little bigger if it makes my mom happy. Besides, I don’t care how the wedding turns out as long as we’re married by the end.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Rocko sang teasingly. “We’re gonna end up with something big and expensive.”

“Not if my dad has anything to say about it.”

He cringed at the reminder. “Oh. Right.”

Rachel sighed. “Rocko, I didn’t mean it like that. You know how stingy he can be.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“And stop worrying about my dad, okay? The last thing I wanna see is you getting obsessed with trying to impress him.”

Too late for that.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll try my best.”

“Good. It should take a year for us to actually be ready for a wedding anyway. He should come around by then.”

“Okay…a-are you scared?”

Rachel gave a light chuckle through the phone. “Just about the wedding. It’s gonna be a lot of hard work. Might go a little nuts here and there.”

“We’ll get through it, though,” Rocko said gently. “This is _our_ wedding. It’s a team effort. And I’ll be right there, all the way.”

“…I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Spunky coughed and gagged into Rocko’s pillow, dog spittle spraying in his face.

“Uh, I gotta go, we’re nauseating Spunky again.”

Rachel laughed on the other end. “All right. Good night, babe.”

“Good night.” Rocko hung up and returned the phone to his nightstand, smirking at a happily panting Spunky. “You’re a little blocker, aren’t you?”

Spunky gave an affirmative yap before falling across Rocko’s chest, snoring instantly. Rocko sighed, scratching Spunky behind the ears as he thought of the wedding.

“Just you wait, Spunky. In a year, you’re gonna be our ringbearer. We’re gonna have a great wedding, and then Rachel will be staying with us every night. In one year, we’ll officially be one big happy family.” He yawned, allowing his heavy eyelids to flutter shut. “Just one year…”

…Wait.

He had to hide Operation Bighead and Son from Rachel…for a _year_?

“Ohhh, bollocks.”


	8. Faint Taste of Ice Cream

**TWO YEARS AGO**

\---

“RACHEL! RACHEL, WAKE UP!”

Rachel woke to the sound of rapid hammering on the back of her truck. If the echo of frantic fists against metal wasn’t enough to make her skull rattle, the voice accompanying them put her in a murderous mood.

“RACHEL, QUICK! IT’S VIRAL! IT’S GONE VIRAL!”

She groaned as she blindly felt around for her phone, poking a single eye from her pillow to check the time.

2:03am.

“_Goddammit, Rocko_.”

She forced herself to sit up, her body already missing the warm safety of her sheets. Sure, she could’ve ignored him, but she wasn’t about to risk explaining to her insurance company how a three-foot wallaby tore a hole in her truck through sheer force of anxiety.

She dragged herself to the back and pushed open one of the double doors with her shoulder. Leaning against its handle, partly to keep herself standing, she glared down at Rocko pulverizing the other one. He was in his pajamas – if a white undershirt and (hopefully) briefs counted as pajamas – and seemed to be blind to her presence.

“Rocko, it’s two in the morning,” she grumbled, startling him before he reduced her door to swiss cheese. “What do you want?”

His eyes were wide and frantic, his arms flailing as he spoke. “RACHEL! There’s-an-internet-video-on-the-internet-and-Heffer-saw-it-and-he-told-me-and-its-on-the-internet-and-he-saw-it-and-a-thousand-people-saw-it-and-now-its-viral-and-now-we’re-viral-and-its-on-the-internet-and—"

Approximately halfway into Rocko’s desperate jumbled sentence, Rachel stepped back into her truck, dug deep into her freezer, returned to Rocko, and shoved a misshapen and partially melted Mr. Fathead popsicle into his mouth. Wrapper and all.

“_Breathe_. Then talk.”

After taking a few seconds to catch his breath, and another few to unlodge the stick from his cheek, Rocko wrangled the popsicle out of his mouth. “Someone uploaded a video of the Pundance afterparty!”

“So? A lot of people took videos there. You and I were probably in a couple.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Rocko hopped onto the truck, trying and failing to met Rachel’s eye level by standing on his toes and tugging on her shirt. “_We_ were in it! And now it’s gone viral!”

Rachel scowled. The whistling wind heightened the awkward silence between them.

“If you woke me up at 2am because we’re in the background of some viral video, I have half the mind to—”

The rest of her threat stuck in her throat, and a pang of dread hit her like a spear to the chest. Her tired eyes shot wide open.

“Wait. Is this…when you and I…”

Rocko nodded, gnawing on his bottom lip.

“Is Cliff…”

He nodded again, audibly gulping.

Crap. _Crap._

“Show me.”

\---

“How did you even find me this late? We’re at least two miles outside of O-Town.”

“I may have spent the last hour or so looking for the only ice cream truck in town with Fatheads artwork on it.”

“On foot?”

“…Maybe.”

They sat together on the cold floor of Rachel’s truck, the promise of sleep a tantalizing three feet to her left. It took about ten minutes to find the video, seven of which Rocko spent attempting to navigate her phone. His at-the-time lack of a smartphone forced Rachel to trust him with hers, and it took every ounce of strength in her not to rip it away. Regardless, his attempts to look up the video fell into her hands when a search of “where was that Pundance video Heffer told me about again” yielded some bizarre and unhelpful results. Fortunately, and unfortunately, “rachel bighead pundance video” seemed to do the trick.

“Hey, aren’t these some of the people you were talking to while we were there?”

“Are they? I don’t remember them too much.”

“I think so. Didn’t that guy say he was working on a trilogy centering on the mime movement?”

“Oh, yeah. Weird guy. I don’t think he knew how to blink.”

“Huh.”

It seemed like a fairly normal video of an afterparty. There weren’t many people she recognized, save for a few she traded business cards with passing by in the background. And yet, nothing of her and Rocko, not even Cliff.

“Are you sure this is the right—"

A piercing scream silenced her immediately. An eerily familiar scream.

The camera went wild as it attempted to find the action, quickly settling on Cliff thrashing on the floor fifteen feet away. She was relieved there wasn’t any footage of her stabbing Cliff, but his hand wound was clear as day. Slightly less clear, but far too clear for her comfort? Herself and Rocko, glaring down at him as he screamed bloody murder.

“Sh-she STABBED me! SHE _STABBED ME_! YOU ALL SAW IT, _SHE STABBED ME_!”

“Oh god…”

It all came rushing back. The way his awful cologne clouded around her in an instant. How she could feel him hovering over her, his hot breath on her neck. The way he grabbed her bare shoulders, squeezing them hard before her instincts took over.

“This is a vicious physical assault, and I WILL press charges!”

“It’s called self-defense, _Cliff_.”

Rocko marched over to the floored mule, becoming distressingly more recognizable as he crossed the floor. She remembered his explosion at Cliff over touching her, but she only witnessed it from behind. The video captured him from a different angle, in all his red-faced fury. This pint-sized powerhouse of a wallaby taking on a mule more than twice his height, and he was winning.

After Rocko finished his tirade, Cliff took off into the crowd, knocking straight into the cameraperson and sending their phone spinning.

“HEY! You upload that video and my uncle’s team will have your ASS, hear me?!”

“Blazes. You think he always uses his uncle as a threat?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me…wait, why is this still going?”

“Huh?” Rocko tapped the screen. The video still had thirty seconds left. “I don’t know, I didn’t finish it—”

The camera settled again, focusing on something that left them blushing and silent.

As the chaos died down, Rocko and Rachel stood together in the middle of the clearing, seeming oblivious to the party around them. Soothing each other. Sharing a chuckle as Rocko applied a bandage to Rachel’s shoulder.

Holding hands.

The video ended soon after, but Rachel still stared at her phone, numb with…she wasn’t sure. Was she really gazing that gently at him that night? Was he that endearingly bashful?

“What’s #boyfriendgoals?”

His question yanked her back to the present. “Wh-what?”

“Right there, under the video.” Rocko poked at the screen, slightly dragging it down. “What’s that mean?”

She put her phone to sleep before he could think to scroll through the comments section. “I’ll tell you some other day.” She set the phone to her side, unable to look Rocko in the eyes. “L-look, it’s not that bad. Only a thousand people have seen it so far, but that doesn’t mean it—”

“That’s still a thousand people! A thousand people who watched us stab and humiliate Cliff!” He broke into a nervous sweat. “What do you think’s gonna happen to us?”

“What’re you—”

“Do you think they’re gonna dox us?”

“_What_?” She turned to the trembling wallaby next to her, the sight of him twitching and fidgeting in fear almost comical. “How do you know what—"

“Filburt told me about it!” He was sweating bullets. “It’s when people on the internet find out where you live and then…kill you?! I don’t know!”

“Rocko, we’re not—”

“Oh gosh. I-I’m gonna have to move, maybe to another state, change my name…” He turned to Rachel as she stood up and reached into the freezer again. “What do you think about Carlos, is Carlos a good name for me or—”

_SPLORT_

Whoops. That popsicle was still in good condition.

Damn it.

“We’re _not getting doxed_, okay?” Rachel dropped down in front on him, though he was too distracted trying to wrestle another popsicle out of his mouth to notice. “No one gets that worked up over a video with barely a thousand views.”

“Buh wuh abah Cwiff?”

Rachel yanked the popsicle out herself, leaving Rocko’s lips pathetically drooping. “Even if Cliff’s fanbase get the video more attention, they’re pretty harmless. If anything, you’ll at least be internet famous for a few weeks.”

He pressed his lips back under his snout. “Internet famous?”

“_If_ it gets that big.” She tossed the popsicle back into the freezer, making a mental note to save it for Heffer. “You’re probably safe, though.”

“But…” He scooted next to her, eyes full with concern. “What about you? Will you be okay?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. I mean, you’re the celebrity, right? Shouldn’t you be worried about your safety?”

Rachel snorted. He sure knew how to flatter. “I’m not a celebrity. I’m an ice cream seller and a freelance animator. Besides, it’s pretty hard to dox someone who lives in an ice cream truck.”

“All right.” He began twiddling his thumbs, a light blush coloring his cheeks. “But, if you ever need a place to stay…I-I mean, if you can’t stay at your parents’ house for some reason, and you can’t find a decent hotel or call up another friend or—”

She gave him a peck on the cheek, giggling as tiny pink hearts lit up his eyes. “Thank you, Rocko.”

“_Don’t mention it_,” he sighed, melting dreamily beside her.

Rachel rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help smiling. Damn this wallaby and the sweet way he spoke, and his compassion, and his accent, and…“So you said Heffer showed you the video?”

“O-oh! Yeah!” Rocko sat himself back up, awkwardly clearing his throat. “He called me about it tonight. Few hours ago, actually.”

“What did he say?”

“Oh, something to the likes of…” He did a brief imitation of Heffer’s voice, slicking his hair up like his. “’Hey Rocko! Didja see that video with Rachel’s new boyfriend? He sure looks a lot like you, huh huh!’”

Rachel chuckled into her hand, partially at Rocko’s terrible American accent. “He was clueless?”

“I guess so,” he shrugged, smoothing his hair down again. “You know him. A few bushels short of a barrel.”

“Yeah.” Damn this wallaby. “Was that all you were worried about? Getting doxed?”

“Well, no.” Rocko wrung his hands between his knees, head bowing slightly. “I…I know you wanted to keep the whole date thing a secret, and now a bunch of strangers know about it.”

Rachel sighed, pulling her knees to her chest and hugging them close. “He’s probably gonna tell Filburt, right?”

“Maybe. And if he tells Filburt, he’ll probably tell Hutch, maybe even his kids. Who knows who the kids will tell?”

Rachel groaned, burying her face in her arms. “_Great_.”

“I’m sorry, Rache. This is all my fault.”

She looked back up at him, brows knit together in confusion. “How?”

“If I didn’t have such a big reaction to Cliff bothering you, maybe that video wouldn’t have been worth uploading. We’d be able to keep…us…under wraps a little longer.”

She couldn’t ignore the dejection in his voice. “You remember _I_ was the one who stabbed him, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And _he_ was the one who chose to be a creep. No one would blame us for reacting the way we did.”

“I suppose so.”

“And, it’s not that I wanna keep this under wraps because I don’t like you.” She gently turned his snout towards her. “I do. A lot.” She hugged her knees tighter, feeling her face burning. “I just wanted a chance to figure this out first.”

“I understand. To be honest, I’ve been thinking about that too.” He rubbed the back of his neck, the soft glow of a blush lighting his face again. “I’ve…I’ve never had my feelings for a friend shift this way before. Maybe it’s a little different in this case, because I admired you before we even met. You’re already a little more than just a friend to me.” He mumbled even softer, slightly turning his head away. “You’re…m-my hero.”

Rachel raised her head slightly. “…I am?”

“Yeah, and it’s not just for your work on The Fatheads.” He kept his eyes low, twisting the bottom of his shirt around his finger. “It’s _you_. You were this angry, jaded person when we first met. Sure, there were a few moments when I saw you happy, but most of the time, you seemed so tired. Like you were finished with life, but you didn’t know how to escape it, or how to escape _you_.” He turned to look at her, face glowing with admiration. “And now look who you’ve become! This beautiful, confident woman who finally loves her life, and loves herself. It’s enough to make me think that, if you could find inner peace and happiness after all these years, then maybe I could...find…my…”

Her eyes were gleaming, so much that Rocko couldn’t help but marvel for a moment.

“Uhhh...b-but the point I’m trying to make is...” His face went blank. “Er…what was my point?”

She laughed softly at his befuddlement. “That maybe this more-than-friends thing is as scary for you as it is for me?”

Rocko blinked, in awe of her once again. “That’s…perfect, actually.”

She gave him a crooked smile, stretching out her legs again and leaning on her hands. “Tell you the truth, I’m not the greatest at relationships.”  
“Me neither. Heck, I can count all the relationships I’ve had on one—”

“Melba doesn’t count.”

“_Hey_!” Rocko playfully shoved her, but it only made her snickering worse.

She hiccupped as she caught her breath again, turning to the smirking wallaby. “Well, at least if we’re both bad at relationships…”

His smirk turned to a warm smile. “You think we’ll cancel each other out?”

“I was gonna say we’ll be bad enough for each other.” She leaned lightly against his shoulder, feeling his arm slide around her waist. “But I like your version better.”

They shared a chuckle, and as she met his eyes again, the world seemed to slow down. Perhaps it was the mood they’d unintentionally set, or her body begging her to go back to bed, but there was something angelic about his eyes. Something about his shy little smile. Something serene. Gentle. Beautiful.

Perhaps it was her mind playing tricks on her, entering a dreamlike state before she could sleep again, but he seemed to be inching closer. Delicately. Almost hesitantly. Or maybe she was. Maybe they both were.

Maybe she was imagining the warmth emanating from his lips, or the slight tickle against hers. Maybe she was imagining that faint taste of ice cream. Or maybe, just maybe…

Maybe a call from her mother at 2:30 in the morning would interrupt her first kiss with Rocko like an ice bath.

“MOTHER_Ffffff_…hi, Mom.”

“Rachie! Did you see there’s this video about you at your movie show?”

“Yes, Mom, I saw it.”

“Did that horse do something to you, sweetie, because if he did, I’ll gather the girls from bridge and _hunt him down like a_—”

“It’s fine, Mom. We took care of it.”

“Good! Oh, and Rocko was such a _gentleman_ in the video – ooh! Do you think he can escort you to the pot luck at Conglom-O next month? They’re rebranding!”

“Sure, I’ll talk to him.”

“Fantastic! Oh, I should go, I think I woke your father again. Hugs and kisses!”

“Love you too. Bye.”

Rachel hung up the phone, tossing it to the side as the truck went silent again. She turned to Rocko, the poor wallaby turned ghostly white by the interruption.

Well, she wasn’t about to drive him home.

“You wanna stay the night?”

“D-do I what?”

\---

There were a few moments in her life where having a queen-sized mattress in her ice cream truck proved convenient for her. One was when her parents needed a place to stay while their house was being rebuilt. Several times involved hiding friends from some very gullible cops during protests. Now, it kept her boyfriend of five minutes from sleeping on the floor. Fortunately for Rocko, she kept a few spare pillows and sheets lying around. Not that she’d planned for anybody to spend the night with her before. As if anyone was crazy enough to willingly sleep in an ice cream truck overnight.

Besides herself.

And her parents.

And now Rocko, apparently.

She let out a relieved sigh as she threw the sheets over herself again, once more enveloped in warmth. Rocko was certainly enjoying himself, bundling under his own sheets like a tiny Australian burrito.

“Your sheets are so comfy, Rache! Where’d you get them?”

“Some swap meet in California. Don’t remember where.”

“How much did you pay?”

“Not much. Good deal.”

“I’ll say. I’d pay top dollar for these! You think they sell these in a twin set or—”

“Rocko. _Please go to sleep_.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He stopped rolling about, settling himself into his pillow. He peeked up to give her one last gleeful smile. “Good night, Rache.”

She returned his smile as she shut her eyes for the night, finally. “Good night, Rocko.”

She hadn’t realized how sore her eyes were until they were closed again. She missed her sheets. She missed her pillow. She missed her bed. She missed sleeping in on a Saturday morning, which she would certainly be doing by several hours now. She didn’t even care that Rocko was still moving around somewhat, probably trying to get comfy on a mattress that was lying on a cold metal floor. Or trying to warm himself up as soon as he was reminded that he was sleeping in an ice cream truck.

Or to give her a good night kiss on the cheek.

Her eyes fluttered open after he pulled away, but he was already comfortably buried in his pillow, sound asleep. For tonight, she was a bit relieved. She wasn’t used to letting anyone see her blushing like an idiot, especially over something as innocuous as a kiss.

But there was a first time for everything.

“_Goof_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now here's the part where I announce my _**hiatus!**_ [balloons and confetti and streamers, oh my]
> 
> Yes, believe it or not, the almost two months it took me to write this chapter wasn't a hiatus, but a _little_ bit of burnout upon realizing I need some serious time to plan out the next part of this story. Churning out a chapter a month has really gotten in the way of me outlining the rest of this behemoth, so for the sake of preventing complete and utter burnout, this story's going on a three-month vacation.
> 
> This doesn't mean I'm putting writing completely on hold! In the meantime, I'll be uploading a few oneshots I've been meaning to write (and in some cases, finish) because I still need my Rockchel fix.
> 
> See y'all in May! (Hopefully? Please.)


	9. Ribbit

Rocko woke to the slow rhythmic beating of his fiance’s heart, her arms cradling his head in her slumber. The slow rise and fall of her chest almost lulled him back to sleep, but the light buzz of curious morning energy kept his eyes open.

The sun was barely peeking into the room, a small sliver of yellow light painting its southernmost wall. Had they overslept again? What time was it? Was Rachel late for…

Oh. Right. Sunday.

He let out a sigh of relief through his nose, gently so as not to wake her. Granted, she wasn’t the lightest sleeper, but he wasn’t about to test that on her day off.

A cold wet nose burrowed into his chest, bringing his attention to a snoring bundle of white and black fur. Sometime in the night, Spunky had squeezed into their embrace, careful enough not to disturb either of them. Even in his sleep, the bull terrier’s tail knew no rest.

Ah well. If everyone else was still asleep…

He closed his eyes once more, nuzzling into Rachel’s chest. It was a Sunday. It wouldn’t hurt to sleep in a little longer. Besides, who in their right mind would be out and about this early?

“HEEEY ROOOCKOOOOO!”

Perhaps challenging the universe wasn’t the brightest thing to do in the morning.

“WAKEY-BAKEY, WE GOT A SURPRISE FOR YOOOOUUUU!”

He silently cursed Heffer as he felt Rachel waking up, moaning in confusion and annoyance. Spunky remained oblivious, his back right leg kicking slightly.

“You know,” Rachel mumbled, blindly reaching for one of two phones on the nightstand until she found his, “normally I wouldn’t question your taste in friends…” She scowled at the displayed time. “But 7am on a Sunday is where I draw the line.”

“_Seven_?!” He took the phone from her hands to check himself, only to be greeted by the hideous sight of his notifications.

Thirty-six missed calls.

Eighteen voice mails.

A hundred and forty-eight texts.

All from Heffer.

“ROOOOOOOCKOOOOOOO!”

He groaned in frustration and buried himself in Rachel’s chest again. If he pretended to still be asleep, they’d get bored and go away. Maybe. Possibly. Hopefully. History be damned.

“You can’t hide from the guys in my cleavage, Rocko.”

“_I can try_!”

“YOOOO-HOOOOOO!” The window vibrated at his relentless hollering. God, he hoped Heffer didn’t wake the Bigheads. “I STILL HAVE YOUR SPARE HOUSEKEEEEEYS!”

Rachel sighed, scratching Rocko’s fur to at least coax him up for air. “Babe, just go.”

“_I don’t want to_.”

“They’re _your_ friends.”

“_They’re your friends, too_.”

“You owe them attention.”

“_You owe them a cameo_.”

This could’ve gone on for several minutes had Heffer not said the magic words.

“BRING RACHEL TOO, SHE’S GONNA LOVE THIS!”

The fur scratching stopped.

“…I can feel you smiling.”

“_Good_.”

\---

They regretted leaving bed almost immediately.

Without getting a chance to have breakfast, coffee, or even change out of their pajamas, the two found themselves blindfolded with a pair of sweaty gym socks. Heffer’s endless giggling felt foreboding as he shoved the two out the open door, arms spread out clumsily in a testament to how much they trusted the steer.

“All right, you two, keep those eyes closed!”

“You didn’t give us much of a choice, Heff.”

“Please tell me these aren’t freshly worn…”

“Hush, you’re blindfolded!” He yanked them back before they could walk off the curb. “Okay, so remember last month when Rachel said we should go into food trucking?”

“Yeah?” the two said.

“And we got together in Rocko’s basement every weekend to brainstorm ideas for the business?”

“You did?”

“We did?” A quick ear yank from Heffer jogged his memory. “I-I mean _yes_! Yes, we did! Heh heh.”

Heffer bounced behind them, barely able to contain his excitement. “Filburt! Honk the horn!”

“You got it, co-head chef!”

Rocko and Rachel felt for each other’s hands, equally terrified for what was in store. They couldn’t possibly imagine the kind of truck Heffer and Filburt conceived in their spare time. They also didn’t expect anything out of a truck horn besides, well, a truck horn.

But the poor recording of Heffer’s voice _as_ the truck horn was eager to correct them.

‘_**WAAAAACKY DEEEEELLY TRUCK, YEAH, WACKY DELLY TRUCK, YEAH!**_’

Their blindfolds were ripped away with the precision and care of a child at Christmastime. “Ta-daaaa!”

…Oh no.

Oh _no_.

“Oh. My. God.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Rocko, may we present…_the Wacky Delly Deli Truck_!”

They couldn’t decide which questions to ask first, frankly because they were terrified to know the answers. Was this…a campervan? A _dilapidated_ campervan? Why did they decide a dilapidated, potentially unsafe to drive campervan was the perfect vehicle for their food truck venture? Did they pay a bunch of hyperactive school kids to slather “WACKY DELLY, YEAH!” to the sides in bright orange paint? Did they subsequently steal those kids’ lunches to superglue bologna, cheese, and salami all over the truck? _Was that mayonnaise they were smelling?_

And the horn. Dear god, the horn…

‘_**WAAA-WAAA-WAAA-WAAA-WAAAAACKY DEEEEELLY TRUCK, YEAH, WACKY DELLY TRUCK, YEAH!**_’

“Okay, Filb, lay off the horn!”

“Sorry!” The door swung open, and out stepped Filburt in a homemade I Am the Cheese apron. “So, who wants to go for a ride? Ladies first!”

A brief stream of disoriented babbling was all Rachel was capable of, stumbling backwards until she sank helplessly into Heffer’s gut. It was the nineties all over again, and in the worst way possible.

“Er, actually, fellas,” Rocko began, prying her off Heffer’s belly and fearing she’d gone catatonic, “Rachel has a few errands to run today, so she needs to go get ready. _Right, dear_?”

Rachel croaked, her throat ballooning to several times its size.

“Right!” He set her off to the side, her body reduced to a plank of wood in a purple pajama shirt. “So me and the boys will take the truck—”

“A-buh-buh! The Wacky Delly Deli Truck!”

“_Right_…we’re gonna take it for a test drive around town.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek, but he may as well kissed an actual plank. “Call me if you need anything, okay?” he whispered.

She croaked again. At least she was responsive.

With that, Rocko jumped onto the truck with Heffer and Filburt, hoping to get it as far away from Rachel as they could. In the right sideview mirror, under the deafening cacophony of Filburt honking the horn and Heffer scream-singing along to it, he could see the reflection of his petrified future wife slamming face-first into concrete.

\---

“You know, Heff, as much as I appreciate you coming up with a cover story, maybe next time you could run it by me _first_.”

After the Wacky Delly Deli Truck’s rickety maiden voyage around O-Town, the trio shared a late breakfast at Chokey Chicken. Unfortunately, they missed their breakfast menu by ten seconds, but no one ever complained about fried chicken in the morning.

“Hey, it worked,” Heffer shrugged, fiddling with an order receipt. He’d spent so long at the cashier while they grabbed a table, they were surprised it wasn’t a foot long. “Besides, if we’re gonna be surprising Rachel, we need an alibi!”

“Are you sure you wanna keep this a secret, Rocko?” Filburt asked uneasily. “_Us_ keeping it a secret from Rachel means _me_ keeping it a secret from Hutch, and I ain’t got the best poker face…”

“Easy, Filb, easy!” Just watching Filburt’s hives act up was enough to make Rocko itchy. “I suppose you can tell her if you want, but she’s already Rachel’s maid of honor. If you tell her and she tells someone else…well, I don’t want a game of telephone going around come the wedding, you know?”

“_Order number 76!_”

The three glanced at the receipt in Heffer’s hands, then back to the food counter. When no one else stood up, Heffer flattened it onto the table and slid it towards Filburt. “You’re closest to the food, Filb.”

Filburt rolled his eyes and took the receipt, leaving Rocko and Heffer alone.

“So, do you have a date for the wedding yet?” Heffer leaned across the table, lightly shaking his rear in excitement.

“Not exactly. Rachel wanted something for next fall, but Mrs. Bighead sounds more excited for a spring wedding.”

“Great!” He shot his hand into Rocko’s shirt, startling him as he pulled out the small red notebook. “That gives you kind of a timeline to work with, then!”

“How did you—”

“Okay, let’s see…” Heffer flipped through pages and pages of plans and doodles, stopping when they turned blank. He reached back and pulled a pen from what was hopefully his back pocket. “What month is it again?”

“Ma—”

“Got it!” He scribbled and sketched quickly into the notebook, laying out a surprisingly detailed 16-month calendar. “Kay, so we have till at least next March to make Mr. Bighead like you.”

“Blimey!” Rocko stood from his seat to get a better look. “That’s more time than I thought!”

“Exactly! Doesn’t sound so scary now, does it?”

“_Move_.” Filburt shoved Heffer off the table to make room for the food. His eyes quirked to the calendar, curiosity piqued. “Oh boy. Are we establishing a timeline?”

“I guess so,” Rocko said, bobbing slightly on his toes. “But, do we have enough plans to last this long?”

“Sure we do!” Heffer shoved his own order against the window. “We just gotta divvy them up long enough to last.”

“I agree with Heffer,” Filburt said, grabbing his food to start eating. “We can’t just force Mr. Bighead to hang with us every day for a year.”

“Yeah, and, like, would you really want to?”

Rocko gulped at the thought. He’d be a fur rug in Mr. Bighead’s living room in a month. Or worse, a fur coat in Mrs. Bighead’s closet.

_“Aw, Eddie, it still has his smell…”_

He shuddered. Curse his overactive imagination.

“_Order number 77!_”

Another receipt slammed down in the table, startling Rocko out of his unwanted mental image.

“You ordered more food?” Filburt asked incredulously.

“I had a small breakfast this morning!” He slid it to Filburt once more. “So, uh, if you don’t mind?”

“I _guess_…” He picked up the receipt and left the table, grumbling several obscene comments about the steer’s appetite.

Rocko leaned into the notebook, humming in thought. “Well, I guess if we limit the plans to twice a month, it could work.”

“See, there you go! We could even take it slow and up the ante later, like…” He jabbed his finger into the calendar, slightly smudging the fresh ink. “Here, we could start simple, like taking him out to eat.” He jabbed at another month. “Here, we get more ambitious, like parks, museums, all that good stuff.” He dragged his finger several months past that. “And here, we could start doing more expensive stuff, like taking him to a concert or Delaware or something!”

“Shouldn’t we establish a budget?” Filburt suggested as he brought over a new tray, shoving it at Heffer as he slid into the booth. “We’re supposed to be saving money, not blowing it on impressing your future in-laws.”

“Budget, shmudget!” Heffer shoved the new order along with his first one, creating an impressive chicken pile against the window. “Besides, isn’t that what a wedding is for anyway?”

“_Order number 78!_”

The table turned quiet. With a nervous titter, Heffer pulled out his third receipt, earning him a hard glare from Filburt. He snatched it out of Heffer’s hand before he could nudge it in his direction, crumpling it as he stormed back to the counter.

“Then I guess we should start as soon as possible,” Rocko said, eyes darting between Heffer and the fuming turtle. “I do like the idea of treating him to a meal.” He drummed his fingers against the table, all but ignoring his food at this point. “What would be a good place, though?”

“What about that French restaurant you proposed in?”

“Not after we sullied that fountain,” he mumbled, tugging awkwardly at his shirt collar. Thank goodness _that_ wasn’t the date that became a viral sensation.

“How about a sports bar?”

“Don’t you think that’s too casual?”

“Hey, nothing wrong with casual!” Heffer jumped as Filburt slammed the new food tray down, glaring at the steer until he slid down the booth. “It’s cheap, unpretentious, and they’ll be showing like ten games at once. And I heard the big game’s coming up!”

“Wasn’t the Superbowl months ago?” Filburt asked.

“Beats me,” Heffer shrugged. “Heard my dad talking about _some_ game.”

“I don’t know, Heff,” Rocko sighed. “Feels like a cheat using alcohol to get Mr. Bighead to warm up—"

“_Order number 79!_”

Rocko and Filburt’s eyes flew back to Heffer. He threw up his arms in defense. “Not me.” 

Rocko’s ears quirked up slightly, the spark of an idea lighting his eyes. “Wait a minute, fellas. We’re _in_ a cheap, unpretentious restaurant! We could bring Mr. Bighead here!”

“Oooh! That’s a great idea!” Heffer clapped in delight. “I think I have some more coupons saved up in my underwear drawer!”

“Yeah!” Filburt nodded. “And when the meal inevitably goes south and gets unbearably awkward, we could hightail it after twenty minutes!”

“Then it’s settled. Operation Bighead and Son is a go!” Rocko raised his soda cup. “To the wedding!”

Heffer and Filburt enthusiastically raised theirs, all three cups meeting hard enough to cause substantial soda spillage. “To the wedding!”

“_Orders number 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85…_”

As the orders kept going, all eyes returned to Heffer, staring forward as he awkwardly pursed his lips.

“Heffer,” Rocko whispered in astonishment. “You _didn’t_.”

All Heffer could do was flash a nervous grin as he pulled out a bouquet of receipts, far outnumbering the orders still being called out. Under the endless nasal drone of a teenager at the intercom, the gnashing of Filburt’s teeth grew louder.

“How about you just _EAT THE WHOLE RESTAURANT_ THEN?!”

Before either of them could stop him, Filburt was tearing across the restaurant floor, grabbing as much food as he could to shove down Heffer’s gullet. It didn’t matter what state the food was in: fresh off the grill, fresh from the freezer, fresh out of people’s mouths…

“Hey, you done with that food?! Heffer needs to eat! Oh, you don’t need that drumstick! Fat boy’s gotta eat! Oh, oh! You see this chicken breast you just dropped? These crumbs?! These trash cans?! ALL THESE TRASH CANS?! WASTE NOT, WANT NOT, ‘CAUSE HEFFER’S A _HUNGRY BOY_!”

\---

The trio stood outside the restaurant, staring up at their freshly printed mugshots on the double doors reading “BANNED”.

“…What was the name of that sports bar, Heff?”

\---

Rachel slammed the bathroom door open, stomach still twitching with nausea. She hadn’t been that intimate with a toilet since the guys (well, Heffer) convinced her the chili cheese joint by the O-Town sewage plant wasn’t _that_ bad after 1am.

She stumbled her way back to the bedroom, one hand trailing cautiously against the wall. A Wacky Delly food truck. Of _course_ a Wacky Delly food truck. Why _wouldn’t_ it be a Wacky Delly food truck? And what could she say now? ‘Rocko, get rid of the truck’? ‘To hell with how excited the guys are’? ‘I’ll burn the truck myself if I have to’?

She picked her phone off the nightstand and scrolled through her contacts, stopping one name above Rocko’s. She didn’t care that she hadn’t eaten breakfast. She didn’t care that it wasn’t even noon.

This was an emergency.

After a few seconds of ringing, her call was answered with a violent crash and a horrified scream.

“_Just keep applying that ointment, Mr. Studebaker_! Hi, Rachel! You’re up early!”

“Wanna grab a few drinks for lunch?”

“Sure! I’ll drive.”

“Thanks, Paula.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [crawls out of apocalyptic shelter]
> 
> So...how y'all doing?
> 
> All righty, so obviously the last couple months have been...not great, so I hope y'all are doing well. At this point, this and my art have been keeping my sanity more than ever, so I'm glad to finally post this chapter up. I can't exactly say what the future of I Have No Son-in-Law looks like aside from "eventually finished", but given current circumstances, future updates may be a little erratic for a while.
> 
> Thank you for your patience, and thank you soooo much for over a thousand hits! I'm shocked that so many people would be into this, and it really does mean a lot to me that my dumb fic makes some of y'all happy.
> 
> Til next time, sweet potatoes.


	10. Me and My Fat Toad Mouth

“And it smelled like mayonnaise.”

Hutch could only stare back at Rachel, gnawing on the straw of her diet soda as her breath sat uneasily in her throat. She tried to speak with her usual smiling serenity, but the deep scratch her hook left on the table betrayed her seeming composure.

“Oh my,” she said, picking the wood shavings off her hook. “The boys have been busy, haven’t they?”

Rachel groaned into the table, her snaking fingers tangling deeper into her hair by the second. Wherever the guys took the truck, she prayed it was at least a mile from the only place in O-Town with a happy hour this early. Why that place had to be a Franky’s Fat Boy was a different annoyance entirely.

“I let this happen.” She looked up, eyes manic and slightly bloodshot. “That…rolling health code violation is gonna be sitting in our driveway for at least a year, until we’re either run out of town for the smell, or eaten by maggots or—"

“Ladies, your tacos!”

The server’s appearance startled Rachel out of her rant, leaving her slightly dizzy from the reigned back adrenaline.

“Thank you!” Hutch chimed.

“Th-thanks.”

A sizzling plate of tacos was set between them: two carnitas, two barbacoa, two mystery meat. Tempting as the smell was, Rachel reached for her drink instead, taking a long nervous sip.

“Sure you don’t want any tacos, Rache?” Hutch asked, picking one to set on her plate. “I don’t think I can finish these myself.”

“I’ll just take home whatever you don’t want,” she mumbled.

“You sure?” Hutch cranked her head to the side in concern. “You should have something in your stomach to balance out your…what was it again?”

“Iced tea. Long Island style.”

“You’re finishing that awfully fast…”

Rachel gave her a smile of reassurance, slightly wobbling in her seat. “It’s okay, it’s pretty watered down. Besides, I feel fine—”

She fell with the grace of a tranquilized elephant. 

After ten clumsy seconds of trying to remember how to sit up, she gripped the booth and table cautiously. “Okay, maybe a few.” She picked three tacos off the main platter onto her plate, praying she could keep them down before she got home.

“Well, maybe this whole food truck thing won’t be so bad,” Hutch said, nudging the platter closer to Rachel. “It’s all for the wedding, right?”

Rachel sighed, setting down the last taco on her plate.

“Paula, imagine the biggest mistake of your career converted into a food truck. Imagine your husband driving that mistake down the road, block after block, street after street, reminding everyone who lays eyes on it of the last thing you did before committing yourself to self-exile under the paper thin guise of artistic expression. Sure, you thought you made peace with it years ago, but now, it’s not just a memory. It’s your husband’s new job. His pride and joy, even. And it’s staring you in the face, mocking you with its existence, and all you can think of is the day you finished your magnum opus, your sanity hanging by a string, and the first person who speaks to you after a _decade_ of isolation is some random farm kid who says ‘Hey, that’s not bad…BUT _HAVE YOU SEEN WACKY DELLY_?!’”

“Ahem.”

The sound of someone’s throat clearing pulled Rachel back to sanity. Her eyes turned to meet the six-foot Franky’s Fat Boy mascot, a large stack of pancakes with spindly legs, a large cigarette, and even larger disapproving eyes. 

“It’s a family restaurant, lady. Not a shrink.”

“Right. Sorry.” Rachel let go of Hutch’s lapels and crawled off the table, awkwardly avoiding the eyes of every patron watching her.

“Gosh, Rache,” Hutch said with hushed sympathy, smoothing out her clothes. “I didn’t know it would upset you that much.”

“It’s not your fault,” Rachel sighed, leaning into her hand. “It’s mine. Me and my fat toad mouth.” She snapped up a taco with her tongue in regret. “Besides, it’s not like you knew that they were gonna—"

The harsh scraping of metal on wood returned.

“EY! That’s _mahogany_, other lady!”

“Whoopsies! Just put it on my bill!”

Rachel cocked a curious brow at Hutch, who seemed to be fidgeting more by the second. “Paula, are you okay?”

“Oh, of course!” she insisted, sweeping away the new wood shavings. “Perfectly fine, completely okay! Want another taco?”

She reached -- no, _lunged_ for their shared food platter, destroying one and a half tacos, puncturing clean through the platter, and getting her hook stuck in the table. She flashed Rachel a wide nervous smile as she tried to free her hook, but she only returned a suspicious scowl.

“_Paula_.”

Hutch’s lip trembled nervously, but she finally caved. “All right! I might’ve helped Filburt with the theme a little.”

“…What?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Rachel! He just looked so desperate and I started throwing him suggestions! I didn’t know he’d turn it into something like this!”

\---  
_“Hm. Barbecue, sushi, fusion…Hey, Hutch? What kind of theme should we use for the food truck?”_

_“Ooh! How about a delicatessen?”_

_“Okey-dokey!”_

\---  
“Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry,” Hutch said, putting her free arm around Rachel as she introduced her face to the table again. “If it makes you feel better, most new food truck businesses don’t usually pan out.”

“I don’t want the business to fail,” Rachel moaned. “I just wish I could take a crowbar to the truck and…”

“Trash it?”

“Yeah.” She fiddled uselessly with the tacos on her plate. “But it’s no use. I’d probably end up making the truck _more_ popular, just like I did with…”

The lightbulb over their booth suddenly flickered on. Somewhere in Rachel’s head, someone, something, pulled the brake on her train of thought, and the vibrations of another incoming train – bigger, faster, far less stable – roared to life.

“Rachel? Are you okay?”

But Rachel barely heard her over the blaring horn of this new train. In fact, she seemed to have forgotten about Hutch and the restaurant completely, staring into space with eyes threatening to rival the taco platter in size.

“Like I did with…Wacky Delly…”

A loud, piercing crash shook the restaurant.

“Goodness! Strange how they would build a restaurant around a functioning railroad, isn’t it?”

\---  
The phone felt like a brick in Rocko’s hand. His trembling thumb hovered over the screen, just above the number for the Bighead household.

“Come on, Rock,” Filburt said to his right. “The worst thing he can say is no.”

“He probably _is_ gonna say no,” Heffer said on his left. “The best chance he can get is if Mrs. B answers first.”

“Fellas, please!” Rocko sat on the last step of the deli truck, heart hammering heavier by the second. “Just give me a moment, will you?”

“Sorry, Rock.”

“Our bad.”

He glanced up from the phone in an effort to calm his nerves, only to find himself wincing at the BANNED flier on the distant Chokey Chicken doors. An angry manager glared at them from a nearby window, pressing their snout to the glass.

“How long have we been sitting in the parking lot?”

“I don’t know, but you better hurry,” Filburt whispered. “I think they called 911.”

“Well, now or never, then…” With a deep, shaky breath, Rocko finally made the call, squeaking as the dial tone sounded. It seemed to go on for an eternity, until finally…

“_Keep the bath warm, dearest, I’ll be there in a moment!_ Bighead residence, Ed Bighead speaking, how can I help you?”

Crap.

“Uhh, h-hey, Mr. Bighead! How are y—"

_CLANG_

Never thought he’d have his hearing threatened by someone violently hanging up on him.

“Oh well,” he sighed, pulling the phone away from his ear. “Guess we’ll try another…wait. Am I still on the line?”

A second voice rose in the background of the call.

“_Honestly, Edward!_” The phone clicked awkwardly as someone picked it off its hook again, and a much friendlier voice came through. “_Mrs._ Bighead speaking, how can I help you?”

“Hey, Mrs. Bighead…”

“Oh, Rocko, honey! I’m _so_ sorry, I thought Ed would’ve learned his manners by now.”

“It’s fine, I understand.” Rocko tapped his nails against his teeth, trying his best to hide his anxiety. “I was just wondering, would Mr. Bighead happen to be free soon? Say, in time for the big ga—”

_CLANG_

“_Blimey_.” He lowered the phone and stuck a pinky into his newly ringing ear. He could’ve sworn he felt some of the impact that time. “So much for appealing to—”

“_Edward! Drain the bathtub._”

“_But—_”

“_Now!_”

Rocko jumped and turned to his phone again, the call still going. He could hear Ed muttering in the background as Bev picked up the phone again.

“_And clean up those rose petals while you’re at it!_ Terribly sorry, dear, what was that?”

“U-um…” He had at least five seconds before Ed got a hold of the phone again. “I was wondering if Mr. Bighead would like to grab a pint with me and the boys! F-for the game and all?”

Bev’s dramatic gasp made him nearly drop the phone. “OH, that’s sounds _wonderful_! Of course he’d like to go, darling!”

Ed piped up in the background again. “_Wait, what? Bev, what’re you doing?_”

“Yes, he would LOVE to spend some time with you and your friends!”

“Great!” Rocko stood from his seat, that slightest bit of hope giving him a boost of energy. “Then I’ll make the reservations for—"

“_Gimme that PHONE, Bev!_”

“Er…is everything okay?”

“Perfectly fine, darling!” Bev said, cheerfully nonchalant over the sound of Ed trying to wrangle the phone from her hand. “He’s just _SO EXCITED_ to be spending quality time with his _future son-in—_”

“_HAND IT OVER, you stubborn old toad!_”

“ED!”

Bev barked straight into the receiver, sending a chill down Rocko’s spine he hadn’t felt since living with his parents.

She spoke into the phone again, her voice an eerily calm monotone. “I’m sorry, dear, can you hold on for a second?”

“N-no problem…”

There was a soft click as Bev set the phone down again, then the faint sound of shouting. He wasn’t sure how close she and Ed were to the phone, but he could hear everything.

“Rocko? What’s going on?”

“Do we have a date or—”

Rocko shushed Heffer and Filburt, pulling the phone closer to his ear. Not that he was _eavesdropping_ or anything, he was just waiting the fight out.

“_What’s the_ matter _with you, Ed? This wedding’s gonna happen whether you like it or not, so just get used to it now!_”

“_Get used to what?! Calling that living migraine part of the family? I’d sooner be mauled by a bear and struck by a meteor than call him ANY son of mine! IN THAT ORDER!_”

Rocko gulped. He wasn’t planning on adding another insecurity to his “Reasons I’m Not Good Enough to Marry Rachel” list, but Ed Bighead never failed to inspire.

"_Just do it for Rachel, for Pete's sake!_"

"_Rachel can do better and she knows she can! Besides, what do I owe that wallaby anyway?!_"

"_Well, gee, I don't know, Ed. How about our house, our marriage, and— oh, I’m just throwing things out there, maybe your entire relationship with **YOUR DAUGHTER**?!?_"

His phone shattered from the power of her voice, his skin barely hanging onto his skull until the phone went silent. Heffer and Filburt, having turned their attention to their shoes at this point, began glancing around for the source of that strange foghorn noise.

After quickly slapping his face back on, Rocko tapped the undamaged part of his screen. He was still on the line. The awkward clicking returned, slower and more hesitant than before.

“Mrs. Bighead? Is everything okay?”

A long sigh was his response. A long, heavy, extremely bitter sigh.

“_I’d love to_,” Ed growled.

Rocko gasped, feeling excitement shoot up from his toes. “Fantastic! Don’t you worry, Mr. Bighead, we’re going to have a great—"

_CLANG_

Either that was the hang up attempt that finally worked, or Ed smashed the Bighead phone to oblivion. 

Regardless, Rocko shoved his phone into his pocket, sharing a proud, confident smile with Heffer and Filburt.

“Fellas, we have ourselves a date—”

“Hey. You know there’s no loitering here, right?”

The three finally noticed the hefty cop that pulled over to them, thumbs tucked into his belt as he lazily stared them down. He nodded his head to the vibrant No Loitering sign in front of the truck, the fine print underneath displaying the $200 fine.

“HE’S ONTO US!”

Heffer grabbed Filburt by the shell and ran screaming into the truck, trampling Rocko into a confused Australian pancake. Within seconds, the Wacky Delly deli truck reverse-fired out of the parking lot and into the streets, bulldozing every other car in its path until all that was left were burning tire tracks, a trail of deli meats, and an annoying horn in the distance: ‘**_WA-WA-WAAAAACKY DEEEEELLY TRUCK, YEAH, WACKY DELLY TRUCK, YEAH!_**’

“Tch. Crazy Gen X-ers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY CRAP, we've reached chapter 10. *passes out*
> 
> Thank y'all again so much for sticking it out this long. The year so far has been...a year, and I feel a little crummy that my output's been way slower than it was when I first started, but with this tenth chapter out of the way, I'm so glad to have finally reached this landmark, and glad to have all y'all with me, whether you've been here from the start or just found this today.
> 
> WELP, onto the next ten!
> 
> ...y'all heard me.


End file.
